All That's Best
by anonythemouse
Summary: When Quinn Fabray reluctantly traveled to England for the reading of her father's will, she wanted nothing more than to go back home as soon as her obligation was completed. But when she met a girl named Rachel, who had deep eyes and a poetic soul, Quinn found that she wasn't in such a hurry to return home...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Greetings, everyone! :)**

**Just a couple things before we get to the good part. :) And please do read this A/N, as there is some rather important information in it.**

**I'm trying my hand at my other OTP pairing on _Glee _- Faberry :) I hope I can do them justice. :D This story will be part one of a two-part series. The first will center around Faberry, and the second will be focused on Brittana. Each story can be read separately, but if you feel so inclined, reading both will give you a fuller picture of what is going on :) Part two will be posted after this story is completed. Just to give you guys a head's up hehe. :D**

**Okay, first, this story is set in 1818, so obviously it is not canon. If historical stories don't really do it for you, then this is definitely not the story for you, but I thank you for stopping by anyway. ;) Also! I don't (can't) really *do* smut, so don't expect any, okay? Awesome. :D**

******Second, for the purpose of the plot and Faberry, while this story is AU, it is also PU (Parallel Universe) in that homosexuality is _not_ taboo, frowned upon, illegal, etc. How is this possible? Well, because in my universe, the ancient Romans never decided to try to distance themselves from the Greeks by banning homosexuality (Yes, contrary to popular belief, the Romans were the first to be anti-homosexuality. NOT the Christians. Rome started this policy circa the 2nd century BCE; Christianity didn't rise until the very late 1st century BCE/early 1st century CE), which in turn never influenced the minds of the general public, so people never thought twice about gay people. So, gay people in my story are as common and accepted as straight ones. With that having been said, nothing else about society will be different from what actually happened in real life. Men are still valued more highly than women, and while lesbian relationships are certainly accepted, people preferred there to be a man in the mix. Because...that's just what people thought back then in their backwards beliefs of women's cognitive abilities.**

******Third, I'm sorry to any British people or fellow history buffs who may be reading this story, but I have had to tweak some things in order to fit in with the Faberry-ness. :) I will try to "explain" each change with a rational reason within the chapter, so I hope you are able to overlook some discrepancies between what happens in the story and what would have happened in real life. :) **

******Now, without further ado, happy reading! :D**

* * *

_Scotland, 1818_

"Why don't you just pick one, then?"

Standing waist deep in the chilly waters of Loch Glenshea, Quinn Fabray slicked her wet hair back from her face and stared dumbly at her cousin Santana. "Pick one what?"

With a sigh and an expression of exasperation, Santana jerked her head in the direction of the shore. "One of _them_."

A crowd of girls, and a few young men, from the village had gathered to watch the cousins swim. Some of the girls were trying to goad the others into joining them, for the day was sunny and hot and they had all been working since sunrise. None of them was actually brazen enough to wade in, however.

Quinn scoffed as the sound of giggling drifted across the water. "What would I want to pick one of them for?"

Santana scowled, drawing her dark raven eyebrows together. "Are ye daft as well as stubborn? So the rest of us might actually have a chance of choosing one as well!"

Quinn truly had no idea what her cousin was talking about, and she was certain she was neither stupid nor stubborn—although many people would argue the opposite of that claim—but as she studied the group on the shore she noticed that most of them were watching _her_. An uncomfortable realization settled in her chest. She had never thought of herself as much of a catch before, despite her seemingly obvious beauty, but as an eligible, landowning young woman of twenty-two, she realized that she was definitely seen as a catch.

"I don't want one!" Quinn blurted with absolute certainty, her heart pounding in her chest. The idea of spending the rest of her life with one of those girls—or _anyone_, for that matter—filled her with dread.

Wanting to put a stop to this ridiculous conversation, Quinn dove under the surface of the loch, each powerful stroke of her arms taking her farther away from her cousin and her absurd questions.

Her, a wife? The very thought filled Quinn with an overwhelming sense of horror. While many of the girls of her village were bonny, to be sure, there was not one who caught her interest more than the others. Not one who set her heart pounding or made her palms damp. She couldn't imagine spending the rest of her life with a single one of them. What would they have in common? And what would they think of a wife who sometimes stayed up half the night reading or painting? A sensible Scottish lass would think her as daft as Santana seemed to think her.

Lungs close to bursting, Quinn broke the surface of the lake, only to find Santana coming up behind her, her long dark hair trailing like seaweed behind her. While her cousin was partly of Spanish descent, her father's family having settled in Scotland in the late 1400s from Spain, Santana was Scottish through and through—although her features were as delicate and refined as any other woman's, Santana was as strong as an ox and just as stubborn as one too. She had to be. It was the only way her family had survived the Clearances. They had been kicked off of their land by the wealthy landowners, and Santana came to her cousin Quinn looking for work to support her family—and work she did. It was Quinn, the mistress of the land, who wasn't a true Scot. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't change the fact that English blood also ran in her veins.

"What do you mean, you don't want one?" Santana demanded, treading water beside her. "You'll not find a more bonny lot anywhere—not even in the court of King George himself." The statement wasn't meant to be insulting, of that Quinn was certain, but it stung all the same.

Quinn averted her gaze so her cousin couldn't see the guilt there. She was certain that it was her father's blood—_English _blood—that made her want to taste the world beyond her tiny village of Loch Glenshea, beyond Hadrian's Wall to the southern lands of England. Quinn had no good reason to feel such a pull toward her father's homeland. In fact, she resisted it violently. Her father had deserted her and her mother years ago, leaving her mother to waste away and eventually die broken and in much lowered circumstances. Quinn had been very young, but memories of her mother were burned into her mind.

Quinn's one memory of him was of her father leaving after her mother's funeral. It was fuzzy, for she had been just a wee lass of three. At the time, Quinn was glad to stay in Scotland with people she knew, but as she grew older she wondered why her father hadn't taken her with him, why he had left his daughter to struggle to keep her home standing and her people prosperous. She also wondered why she still thought about her father after all of these years. He deserved none of Quinn's curiosity. He certainly didn't deserve the small bit of his daughter's heart that still ached at the thought of her father not wanting her.

"I have no desire to marry, Santana," Quinn replied softly. She had seen what marriage had done to her mother. She had no desire to afflict anyone with that kind of suffering—nor have it put upon her, for that matter.

But even as the bitter thoughts ran through her head, they were chased by memories of the kind of marriage that her grandparents shared—one of hard work, love, and laughter. Quinn knew that her mother and father's marriage had not been a normal one.

Santana snorted. "You don't have to marry her, Quinn. Just pay more attention to her than the others so they will give up hoping you will pick one of them and start looking at the rest of us."

It didn't seem right to Quinn to pretend to be interested in someone she didn't actually want, and she didn't like having the success of her cousin's love life placed on her shoulders. Quinn already had enough to worry about. Winter was only a few months away and there were repairs to be made before the snow fell. She and her grandmother weren't impoverished yet, but they were close.

"Why don't you just pick one _you_ like, Santana, and then try to court her?" That seemed like a much better idea than Quinn having to do all the work.

Another frown. "And just how am I supposed to do that when everyone is pining for your pretty face?"

Quinn flushed with embarrassment, but she met her cousin's gaze evenly. "Just be your usual charming self," she teased with a smile.

Santana growled and lunged toward Quinn. Laughing, the two cousins wrestled in the shallow water like two young otters. The two were well matched: while Santana was the stronger of the two, Quinn was more agile. As long as she could avoid getting shoved under the water, Quinn could hold her own. The crowd on the shore cheered them on, and Quinn couldn't resist rubbing it in her cousin's face that most of the cheers were for _her_ and not Santana.

"Quinn Fabray!"

Trained by years of instantly answering when her grandmother called or getting a rod across the back of the legs, Quinn released her hold on Santana's lean arm and turned toward the shore. She felt her cousin's hands come down like anvils on her shoulders, ready to push her under.

"I see you, Santana Fabray! You stop your tomfoolery this instant!"

Lilian Fabray stood with her fists firmly planted on generous hips. She had been pretty once, but years of struggle had hardened her features. Hers was a stern, handsome face, one that any young person easily obeyed. Usually, her eyes sparkled with good humor. From this distance, Quinn couldn't tell if they sparkled or not, but she could hear uncertainty in her voice. It shook a bit, sending a shiver of dread down Quinn's spine. Nothing scared her grandmother. Or at least she hadn't thought anything could.

"There's someone here to see you, Quinn," she called. "Get yourself to the house right away."

Mystified, Quinn swam toward the shore. Who could it be coming to see her that her grandmother wouldn't identify by name? She knew of no one who could make the elderly woman react in such a way.

Water streamed from her sodden swim clothes as she sloshed from the loch. She barely felt the tiny pebbles along the edge as they bit into the soles of her feet.

Since childhood, Quinn and her friends had spent as much of their summers as possible barefoot and playing by the loch without a care in the world. But childhood was behind her now. That was obvious in the appreciative stares the group of girls and a few boys gave her as she strode to where her blouse lay on the grass. Suddenly, Quinn was very conscious of how her swimming breeches clung to her backside and legs, and that her chest, which was once smooth and flat, was full with gentle swells that almost threatened to burst through her swimming top.

Inside, she still felt like a child, but outside she looked like a woman, and the boys, as well as quite a few girls, once friends, were suddenly seeing her as one.

The worn linen of her blouse stuck to her wet skin and swimming shirt. Embarrassed by the other girls' giggling, Quinn kept her head bowed as she finished fastening the buttons. Santana charged up beside her.

"What's going on?"

Quinn shook her head, spraying them both with droplets of water. "I have no idea."

"Do ye want me to come with you then?" Santana's dark eyes were filled with concern.

Laying a hand on her shoulder, Quinn flashed her cousin a bright grin. "Nay. You stay here and entertain the ladies. Sophie seems to be very interested in your…conversation."

Santana glanced over her shoulder and flushed crimson when she caught the pretty redhead's frank stare. She turned back to Quinn, her eyes wide with fear. "What do I do?" she demanded in a strangled whisper.

"Talk to her, I suppose," Quinn replied with a grin, as she began to walk away. "And be your usual charming self."

Quinn ran the short stretch to Castle Fabray. The castle sat on a small isthmus of land that jutted out into the depths of Glenshea. It had been built two hundred years ago by one of her ancestors. It stood proud and strong against the rugged landscape like something out of a legend. The tawny stone turned to gold in the afternoon sun and the stained glass in the upper windows sparkled like gems. The castle was the jewel of the Fabray lands, and Quinn longed to restore it to its former glory. Just the sight of it made her heart fill with pride.

Little changes had been made to the outside, though the inside had been renovated half a dozen times over the years when the Fabrays had the funds to do so. As the mistress, it was Quinn's job to see to the necessary repairs, but her father had robbed her not only of her birthright, but of the money required to fulfill her duty. She managed to keep the castle warm and dry, but there were other things that needed to be done, such as new carpets and draperies, and fresh paint. It had been a good year for sheep and crops; perhaps there would be enough money to purchase some new carpets after everything else was taken care of.

Colleen, the housekeeper, met her at the servants' entrance with dry clothes, boots, and a slab of freshly baked bread dripping with butter. Quinn's stomach growled.

"Get yerself dressed behind the screen there," she told Quinn with affectionate brusqueness. "And then you can eat."

One whiff of the fragrant bread was all the urging Quinn needed. She slid behind the screen and quickly changed her clothes. Located in the bottom of the castle, the kitchen was cool despite it being early June. Warmed by the dry clothes, Quinn draped her wet garments over the rack by the fire and crammed her feet into her boots. She grabbed the steaming bread from Colleen's hand with a grin and a kiss on her cheek and set off down the hall to find her grandmother and her mysterious visitor.

When she stepped inside the front drawing room, Quinn found a tiny bald man sitting on the sofa across from her grandmother. The little man's posture was so rigid that he looked as though he had been carved from stone.

He jumped to his feet when Quinn said hello.

"My lady!" he cried, stepping forward to take Quinn's hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, although I fear I bear bad tidings."

Quinn's heart seized in her chest. No one _ever_ called her by her title unless they were a bill collector or someone looking to gain something.

"Good day, Mr. …?" Quinn trailed off, arching an eyebrow in question.

"Chumley, my lady," the man replied, still grasping Quinn's hand. "Alfred Chumley."

Alfred Chumley was English, a fact Quinn was hard-pressed to hold against him when he looked like a gnome and the top of his head barely reached the bottom of Quinn's shoulders.

She pulled her hand free. "Please sit, Mr. Chumley. May I offer you a drink?" Vaguely, Quinn realized her own accent was almost as crisp and as _English_ as Mr. Chumley's.

Her mother's final wish had been that Quinn be educated like her father's folk, and for a while, young Quinn had ached to more like the man who had deserted her. She had tried so hard to be as English as the tutors who guided her. Now she felt a measure of disgust at herself for trying to be anything like this little man from a country she had never seen but that had been the cause of her mother's unhappiness.

"Some tea would be lovely, if you have it, my lady." Flicking out his coattails, Mr. Chumley again seated himself.

"Tea it is, then." Crossing to the oak table in the far corner of the room, Quinn poured two cups of tea from the kettle her grandmother always seemed to have ready before crossing back to seat herself on Chumley's right.

"What brings you to Scotland, Mr. Chumley?" Quinn asked after taking a sip of her drink.

Mr. Chumley pulled a large leather satchel into his lap and opened it. "It's about your father, my lady."

Quinn choked on a mouthful of tea. Her eyes watered and her nose and throat burned from the liquid. Neither her grandmother nor the barrister moved to assist her, but only Mr. Chumley seemed concerned. Her grandmother was never one to coddle her when it wasn't life-threatening.

"What about my father?" Quinn demanded once the coughing stopped and she could speak again.

Mr. Chumley's expression was one of pity and sympathy. Quinn didn't want either. "I…I'm afraid he's dead, my lady."

Quinn experienced more surprise than any kind of sorrow. She had expected the old man to live forever—a constant reminder that neither Quinn nor her mother had been able to earn his love.

"And what has this to do with me?" How she managed to keep her voice so low and controlled she had no idea. For nineteen years she had waited for contact of any kind from her father and had received nothing. Was she expected to dress in black and weep now that he was dead?

How could she mourn someone she had never known? And why had anyone even bothered to tell her? How could it possibly make a difference now?

Mr. Chumley's entire head flushed scarlet. "Y-you're in the will, my lady."

A fist in the face couldn't have surprised her more. What could her father have possibly left her? More importantly, how could he have believed Quinn would possibly want it? He had married her mother for her title and her fortune and then deserted her when he had inherited his own title.

He had returned to Scotland for his wife's funeral—not to mourn her but to make sure she was dead. He had taken one look at his daughter and then left Quinn behind. He hadn't even given Quinn's mother the respect of a full year of mourning. He remarried not even two months after her death. He no doubt had other children to name in his will. Why bother with his forgotten oldest?

Quinn fought to keep her expression calm. "There's nothing that man could possibly have had that I would want," she replied coolly.

Mr. Chumley looked from her to her grandmother and back again. Her grandmother fixed her with a strange expression that told Quinn the elderly woman understood something she didn't—something that made her stomach clench with unease.

"Well, I'm n-not sure that you have much choice but to accept this, my lady." Mr. Chumley cleared his throat.

Scowling fiercely, Quinn rose out of the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Although her height was not necessarily impressive at merely five feet six inches, Quinn's stern, unyielding demeanor could daunt even the burliest of men. Mr. Chumley's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"What do you mean I have no choice?" Oh yes, Quinn was very capable of playing the role of mistress of the manor when necessary. If Mr. Chumley meant to intimidate her, Quinn would show him who was truly in charge.

The little Englishman shuffled through some papers with visibly shaking hands. Finding what he wanted, he held it out to Quinn.

"Might I remind you, my lady, that you are your father's oldest child."

Quinn snatched the papers from Mr. Chumley's hand but didn't look at them. She kept her puzzled gaze locked on the man's round face. "So?"

Mr. Chumley pushed his spectacles up on his nose and tried again to make Quinn understand. "You're his oldest child, my lady. His oldest legitimate child. His heir."

Quinn scoffed in disbelief and raised a skeptical brow. "How could I possibly be his heir? English custom dictates that only the oldest _son_ can inherit a title. As you can see, I am merely a female."

Mr. Chumley anxiously cleared his throat and nodded quickly. "Yes, indeed, that is the usual English practice. However, your father has disregarded the custom in this case and even consulted a lawyer to make certain that he could legally leave you, his eldest child—his daughter—as his heir."

Realization blossomed like fire to dry tinder inside Quinn's stomach. "You mean…"

Mr. Chumley nodded once more. "Yes, my lady. I mean that you are now one very, very wealthy and powerful young woman. You're the new Duchess of Brahm."

* * *

Five minutes to herself. That was all she wanted. Five minutes away from her mother's endless prattle about fabrics and dresses and wedding plans.

_Especially _wedding plans.

Ducking into the bookshop, Rachel Berry knew she had at least five minutes—maybe even seven—in which to soothe her frazzled nerves and forget her mother even existed. Just the smell of paper, ink, and leather bindings was enough to calm the raging headache that threatened behind her right eye.

The store was quiet, blocking out the sounds of the busy day outside. In here, Rachel could lose herself for a few moments, escape her life and become the heroine of a novel or poem. She could pretend to be that woman and forget about the girl she was.

She loved books like most girls loved new dresses. No doubt her mother would have some kind of seizure if she knew that, so Rachel kept her passion for reading a secret. Even Finn didn't know.

A man should know of his fiancé's passions, shouldn't he?

But then, Rachel found it difficult to discuss her passions with Finn. In fact, she rarely knew what to say to him at all. He was so confident, so poised and charming that she felt positively tongue-tied in his presence, afraid that she would reveal what a boring ninny she was if she dared to open her mouth.

It made her nervous just to be around him, and she often caught herself wondering what he even saw in her. While she was often cheerful, she was bookish and enjoyed studying music and poetry—not the kind of vivacious, sparkling girl a young man would want as his betrothed. But Finn didn't seem to notice that they were ill matched, or perhaps he did not care. He was always the perfect gentleman—a fact that made him a model to other young men, made him desirable to other young women and sought after by their mamas.

So why was Rachel feeling so unsure of him and that he had chosen her to be his wife? Finn was everything she ever dreamed of having in a husband. When he noticed her last season, Rachel couldn't believe her good fortune. There she was, just another debutante in just another white gown, and _the _most handsome, charming young man of the _haute ton_, London's cream of society, had singled her out for not one, but _two _dances. One of those dances had been the waltz—a dance her mother had thought scandalously indecent and refused to let her practice until Finn asked permission to whirl her about the floor.

That had been the most glorious night of her life. All the other girls had been terribly envious, and when Finn sent her a huge, sweetly scented bouquet of roses the next morning, Rachel's heart sang in joy. She knew she was the luckiest girl in all of London to have garnered the attention of such a young man during her first Season, and she appreciated it, she truly did, but when Finn had come to her parents just a few months ago and asked her father's permission to ask for her hand, Rachel had been overwhelmed with myriad unexpected emotions. One of which was alarmingly close to panic. Why would a gentleman of his quality want to wed a girl such as her? A girl who could barely string a sentence together in his presence.

Perhaps it was just a bad case of bridal nerves, as her mother insisted. After all, Finn didn't seem to mind that she was quiet around him. He seemed to like it. The problem was that Rachel wasn't quiet by nature—quite the opposite, in fact. Surely she would overcome her shyness before the wedding? And there were other things for them to do than talk.

Kissing, for example. Rachel blushed furiously as she remembered how Finn had kissed her the night before, after the Whitman-Holt ball. It gave her butterflies just to think about it. Her mother would _not _have approved.

Peering out the window, Rachel saw that her mother had yet to notice her disappearance. She was still talking to Mrs. Pillsbury, no doubt boring the poor woman with every detail of Rachel's upcoming nuptials.

"Good day, Miss Berry."

Rachel cast a sheepish smile at the elderly man behind the counter as she turned away from the window. "Good day, Mr. Hornsby."

"I take it your mother chose not to accompany you into the shop this morning?" Mr. Hornsby's pale green eyes sparkled with amusement. It was a running joke between them—Rachel's mother _never_ entered the store except to collect her daughter and demand to know what she was doing in such a "dirty, dusty place." Somehow, Shelby Berry never figured out that her daughter was actually looking at books.

"She is talking to Mrs. Pillsbury in front of the dressmaker's," Rachel replied with equal humor. The same dressmaker's where she had spent the last two hours being pinned and prodded and talked about like a fashion doll rather than a person.

"Ah. You have plenty of time to browse, then."

Rachel chuckled. "A few minutes at the very least. Do you have anything new in?"

"I just shelved a new edition of Wordsworth at the back."

Rachel wrinkled her nose. Poems about nature might please the minds of others, but she wanted something more…meaningful.

"Nothing else?"

Mr. Hornsby laughed at her expression. "There's a new volume of Byron back there as well."

Now _that_ was more to her liking! Her mother would certainly not approve of her daughter reading poetry written by someone as scandalous as Byron, but that had little to do with the excitement fluttering in Rachel's stomach. There was something about the way Byron wrote, something about the way he made her feel. He made her want to experience life and all its glories. She wanted to travel, she wanted to see the world, but most of all, she wanted to feel that sweeping passion Byron so often talked about in his poems.

No doubt her mother—even her friends—would think her terribly silly for wanting someone to burn for her like the subjects of Byron's poems. All her life she had lived within the social structures of London, the order of her mother's household, the misfortune of being born female. What she truly wanted was to experience something wild and untamed, to break the rules and stomp upon the circumstances. Of course, to do so would mean social ruin, and while she might be fanciful, Rachel Berry was not a fool. Still, just once, it would be nice to have someone spout a little poetry in her honor.

As dear and sweet as he was, Rachel couldn't imagine her fiancé using verse to express his deeper emotions. Maybe she was just too romantic, one of those weak-minded girls her mother claimed novel writers preyed upon. If only she knew how Finn truly felt for her. He kissed her as though he loved her, but she had yet to hear the words. Maybe then she wouldn't suffer this anxiety all the time.

Rachel walked briskly to the back of the shop. She must hurry if she was going to find anything before her mother came looking for her. Dear Mrs. Pillsbury would listen to her mother talk for only so long before making some excuse as to why she must leave. Her mother had no imagination and therefore her conversation tended to always entail the same subjects. For the last six months, she had been able to talk of nothing else but Rachel's engagement. After all, it wasn't every day that the firstborn son of a duke deigned to marry a mere nobody.

Not that Rachel was a complete nobody—she was distantly related to both the Earl Spencer and the Duke of Wellington, but her father held no title and he was a man of business, which was looked down upon by society's chosen few, the _ton_. The only thing that truly saved Rachel from being a social outcast rather than one of its darlings was her huge dowry. She was heiress to her father's shipping company—something relatively unheard of for a daughter. And whoever married her would gain a foothold in that shipping company, a fact that had made Rachel much sought after during her London Debut.

Aside from his considerable charm, the fact that Finn, heir to a duke, had money of his own made Rachel feel as though he was truly in love with her.

At least she hoped he was, because she didn't care how large _his_ fortune was. If he loved her, truly loved her, it wouldn't matter if he was rich or poor.

Suddenly, Rachel realized she was not alone. There was a woman standing with her back to her in the poetry section. A tall, compared to Rachel at least, slender woman with quite possibly the most beautiful blonde hair Rachel had ever seen cascading down to the middle of her back. She wore a powder blue blouse tucked into the waist of her long gray skirt and shiny black boots.

All Rachel could do was stare at her in awe. She had never seen a woman so…so…_commanding _before.

The woman didn't hear her approach, so intent was her attention on the book in hand.

"'She walks in beauty, like the night / Of cloudless climes and starry skies, / And all that's best of dark and bright / Meet in her aspect and her eyes: / Thus mellowed to that tender light / Which heaven to gaudy day denies.'"

Her voice was soft and melodic, with a slight burr to it that only made Byron's words all the more effective.

"You read very well, miss," Rachel remarked, her voice annoyingly breathless. She shouldn't have spoken. It was highly improper, but there was no one around to hear her speak other than the mystery woman.

The woman started. Snapping the book shut, she whirled around to face Rachel, and the full effect of her was like a blow to the stomach.

She was without a doubt the_ most_ breathtakingly beautiful woman Rachel had ever seen. The woman's golden hair framed her face, which was defined by a sharp jaw, high cheeks, and full lips. And she was young—although few years older than Rachel's own eighteen years.

"Th-thank you," the woman replied, her hazel gaze hesitant as it met Rachel's. "Miss—"

Oh, where were her manners? It might have been shocking for Rachel to speak to her, but it was even ruder of her not to introduce herself. Extending her hand, Rachel smiled, hoping she didn't look like a complete fool. "Miss Berry. And you are?" _Other than completely magnificent, that is._

The blonde took her hand, holding it firmly in her slightly larger one. "Fabray. Quinn Fabray."

"Well, Miss Fabray," Rachel responded, marveling in the strength and softness of the fingers clasped around hers. "You have a lovely voice for poetry—and good taste in it as well."

Miss Fabray held up the book, a slight smile curving her lips. "I've never read Byron before. I've heard so much about him, I decided I should at least see what all the fuss is about."

"He's one of my favorites." Gazing toward the shelves, Rachel discovered the empty spot where Miss Fabray had found the book. Hers was the last copy. Swallowing her disappointment, Rachel smiled at her. "I heartily recommend you buy the book."

The blonde's gaze never left Rachel's face, bringing a blush to her cheeks. "It wouldn't happen to be the book you came here to buy, would it?"

"It was," Rachel replied honestly. "But I already have some of Byron's work at home. I would hate to deny you the pleasure of discovering his poetry."

Miss Fabray offered the book to her. "I couldn't enjoy it knowing I took it from you."

How sincere she sounded! Rachel's blush deepened. "Please. I insist." She couldn't explain it, not even to herself, but it was suddenly very important to her that Miss Fabray take that book.

The blonde held the book to her chest with one slender hand. "Thank you for your sacrifice, Miss Berry."

Rachel smiled brightly. Was it warm in the bookshop or was it just her? "I would hardly call it a sacrifice, Miss Fabray, but you're welcome. I hope you enjoy it."

"I shall think of you whenever I read it."

She made her declaration so forcefully that Rachel could only stare at her in surprise. Surely her mouth was hanging open like a door on one hinge! No one had ever told her they would think of her when reading poetry—and Byron no less!

Miss Fabray flushed a dark red. "I-I mean I shall never forget your kindness."

Strangely, Rachel's heart sank a little. What else could she expect? She was hardly the type of girl who inspired poetry. Maybe if she was blonde and blue-eyed—the quintessential English Rose—and the daughter of an earl, she would have more people gifting her with verses on the beauty of her face, but she had dark hair and dark eyes and no one but Byron seemed to appreciate that kind of coloring. And Byron was in another country—too far away to do her any good.

Rachel's mother chose that exact moment to enter the shop. Rachel could hear the sharpness of her voice from all the way at the back.

"I have to leave," she responded lamely, scarcely hiding her disappointment. "My mother is looking for me. It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Fabray."

The blonde didn't look as though she believed her, but she nodded. "The pleasure was mine." Even though they were strictly courtesy, her soft words sent a tingle down Rachel's spine.

"And thank you again for allowing me the book."

Rachel smiled, delaying leaving, even though she could hear her mother's heavy footsteps coming closer. "Enjoy it."

"Rachel," her mother's voice boomed from behind the next stack of books.

Rachel started toward it, not wanting her mother to see this perfect young woman. Rachel wanted to keep her just for herself. Casting one last glance her way, Rachel committed her image to memory so she would never forget the five incredible minutes she spent in the blonde's company.

"Goodbye, Miss Fabray."

Miss Fabray smiled and raised one eyebrow, as though in challenge. "London's not that large, Miss Berry, so I won't say goodbye just yet."

With her heart tripping in her chest and her feet practically tripping over each other, Rachel rounded the corner, narrowly escaping a collision with her mother.

"Where were you?" Shelby demanded. "Didn't you hear me calling?"

"I was reading a book on advice for brides, Mama, and I didn't hear you at first." She linked her arm through her mother's much longer one and steered her back toward the front of the store. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting long."

Whatever her mother said in reply Rachel didn't hear. She was too busy thinking about Quinn Fabray and wondering if indeed London was so small that she might actually see her again.

* * *

**A/N: So, there it is! I hope you all enjoyed it! :)**

**My schedule is getting very busy, so I can't really promise a new chapter each week, but I will never abandon a story. :) I shall be back with chapter 2 as soon as I can! Bye! :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello, everyone!**

**I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who has alerted, favorited, and reviewed the first chapter! More than I expected, so thanks a million! :) **

**Anonymous reviews :)**

_**Guest (#1) -**_**Thanks! I hope you like this chapter :)**

_**Guest (#2) -**_**Thank you for the review! I hope you like this chapter! :D**

**That's enough out of me for now. Enjoy!**

* * *

_All that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes…_

Quinn had never dreamed that such a girl existed.

Standing in the window of the bookshop, she watched as Miss Berry and her mother stepped out into the street where an open carriage sat waiting among the fading puddles of rain on the cobblestones. The warm afternoon sun would have them gone in time for it to rain again.

Mrs. Berry lumbered into the vehicle like a bear climbing a hill. Her gracelessness made her daughter's movements as she stepped up behind her seem all the more effortless. Delicately taking the hand of the footman offered her, she lifted the skirts of her dark blue gown so she wouldn't trip and stepped up into the carriage. Quinn caught a glimpse of a shapely ankle in a pale stocking as she did so.

Miss Berry turned as the carriage jerked into motion. It was as though she had known—or perhaps _hoped_—that Quinn would be standing there watching. The brunette smiled in her direction, and even from that distance Quinn could see the sparkle in her dark eyes. Quinn pressed her fingers to the window, wishing the cool glass was the other girl's warm cheek instead.

And then she was lost in traffic, and lost to Quinn.

The blonde glanced down at the book in her hand. It was a frivolous expense, but according to her father's solicitor, she could well afford it. And what better way to spend her father's money than on something the old man would have no doubt turned up his aristocratic nose at? Phillip Pierce hadn't been capable of appreciating beauty. If he had been, he never would have left Scotland.

He wouldn't have left Quinn's mother.

But Quinn didn't want to think about all the things her father had done to her mother, mostly because she didn't know just what her father had done. She had been too young to remember it. She didn't remember her father living with them and she didn't remember much of her mother, except that she seemed to cry a lot. Quinn remembered her rocking her and weeping as she sang her to sleep. She couldn't remember ever hearing her mother laugh, and for that she blamed her father.

Her grandmother never said anything bad about her father, but she had overheard her talking with other women when she was younger. She made it very clear that Judith Fabray had wasted away pining for her English husband.

And now here Quinn was watching after an English girl. She should be disgusted with herself. Her first full day in London and already her father's blood was showing. She would be better off forgetting Miss Berry and taking care of the business she came to attend to. The sooner she settled her father's estate, the sooner she could return to Scotland.

In the meantime, Quinn would see as much of the city as she could.

The blonde approached the counter and smiled at the man behind it. "I'll take this, please."

The elderly man took it from her. "Ah, the Byron. I'm surprised Miss Berry allowed you to have it." He spoke with such fondness that Quinn was surprised. Obviously Miss Berry was a regular customer. Perhaps if Quinn frequented the shop enough she would see the fascinating brunette again.

"Actually, she insisted that I take it," Quinn replied, not wanting the man to think she had forced Miss Berry to allow her to have the book.

Wrapping the book in paper, the proprietor raised a brow. "Did she? Well, you must be a special person indeed for Miss Berry to give up a new volume of Byron, Miss….?"

Quinn blushed to the roots of her hair. "Fabray," she muttered, not bothering to use her title. She had rarely used it in Scotland and it seemed pretentious of her to use it now.

The old man tied a neat bow in the string around the package and extended his hand. "Arthur Hornsby."

Quinn accepted his hand with a grin. "Pleased to meet you." Releasing the kind man's hand, the blonde fished into her purse for a few coins and paid for her purchase.

Mr. Hornsby handed the wrapped book to Quinn. "Please come back again, Miss Fabray."

"I will. Thank you." Tucking the book under her arm, Quinn turned toward the door. It might be best if she didn't come back. It wouldn't do her any good to see Miss Berry again.

She hailed a hackney coach without any difficulty and gave the driver directions to her father's house. There was no sense in putting it off any longer. The sooner it was done with, the sooner she could take her father's fortune—most of which had been stolen from Quinn's mother—and return to Scotland. She had seen enough of the world outside of Loch Glenshea to last her a lifetime. She would make the necessary repairs to the castle and her lands and spend the rest of her life as a wealthy landowner and lord. It was a life she was much better suited to than that of an English lady.

Perhaps one day she would even take a wife.

_Maybe a girl who likes poetry would appreciate the beauty of the Highlands_, a voice in her head teased.

She sighed. So much for putting thoughts of a certain doe-eyed English girl out of her mind.

It was useless even to think of it. There was nothing saying Miss Berry even had the slightest romantic interest in her, and nothing saying her infatuation continue upon closer acquaintance with the brunette. Quinn would probably never see her again. In fact, she would strive not to.

As the coach drove through the neighborhood known as Mayfair, Quinn wondered how her father had ever entertained the idea of living in Scotland. Certainly, Scotland was not without its castles and grand estates, but Mayfair was the bosom of the English aristocracy, and each house seemed grander than the last. Great, sprawling walls of stone with Grecian columns and more windows than a person could count on both hands and feet drifted past. They taxed windows in England. Most of those taxes surely came from Mayfair.

Finally, the coach rolled to a stop and Quinn stepped out. She cast a brief glance at the house before turning to the driver. "Are you sure this is the right place?"

The driver nodded. "'Tis the address you guv me, m'lady."

Swallowing hard, Quinn nodded. "Thank you." She tossed the man a few coins in payment and started up the walk, the book of poetry still tucked under her arm.

How her legs managed to carry her to the door she would never know. Her limbs were shaking so badly she was surprised that she could even stand, let alone move. This had to be a mistake. This house—this unbelievable house—could not be hers!

The iron gate swung open at her slightest touch, giving her an unobstructed view of Brahm House.

It was huge, rising several stories above the ground in the Neoclassical style; a sprawling Grecian temple demanding awe from each and every person who gazed upon it. Built with large blocks of golden-hued stone, it easily stood three floors high. High ionic columns ran along the front between each window and flanked the large oak doors.

The gravel drive cut through a lawn of rich, verdant grass, so thick it looked like velvet. Not a weed or shrubbery to be seen anywhere except for the immaculately trimmed topiaries hedging the front of the house.

Quinn was three-quarters of the way to the house when she heard the pounding of hooves coming up fast behind her. She whirled around to see a horse and rider bearing down upon her.

"Out of the way!" the rider shouted with the humor of a man used to having others do his bidding.

Quinn didn't have to be told twice. She dove to the side just as the horse thundered past. She landed on the grass with enough force to knock the air from her lungs.

Blasted fool! The idiot could have killed her!

Drawing breath, Quinn rolled to her feet, dusted off her blouse and patted down her now-disheveled hair. She hoped the landlady at her lodgings knew how to remove grass stains, because she had a long, dark green smear down the right side of her brand new gray skirt. Her grandmother would have given the reckless rider a good tongue-lashing.

Obviously the fellow either worked at the house or was a guest there. As the new Duchess of Brahm, Quinn would tell the hooligan exactly what she thought of nearly being run down in her own drive. She held an immense dislike for people who had no respect for others. She was raised to show courtesy.

Her mood and expression grim, Quinn continued on to the house with a quickened pace. She banged the knocker on the door and waited with a barely simmering temper to be allowed inside.

The door opened, revealing a butler dressed in austere black. The man was a study in colorlessness. White hair, white complexion, pale eyes, and stark black clothing. He put Quinn in mind of a chessboard.

"Yes?" he intoned. His slightly-feminine voice was as colorless as the rest of him.

"I'm here to see the dowager duchess," Quinn replied as politely as someone who had almost been run over could manage.

The butler's cold gaze swept the length of her, taking in the grass stain on her skirt and her slightly ruffled hair. He obviously did not like what he saw.

"The duchess is not at home today. Good day."

The door had almost slammed in her face before Quinn realized that she had been dismissed. Thrusting out her hand, she managed to stop the door before it shut. The butler shot her a baleful glare.

"Kindly remove your hand, miss. If you have something to sell, take it around to the servants' entrance."

Quinn scowled. She might look a little dusty, thanks to the lunatic on the horse, and her clothes might not be the height of fashion, but she certainly didn't look like a common peddler!

"I'm not selling anything," she gritted out between clenched teeth.

"Then, unless you have a card to leave for my lady, I suggest you return at a later time." The old man shoved on the door.

Quinn's good humor quickly exhausted itself. What was wrong with this godforsaken country? Even the servants thought they were better than everyone else!

"_I_," Quinn growled, "am the Duchess of Brahm and this is _my _house and unless you want to find yourself looking for new employment in the morning, you will let me inside _now._"

Well, _that_ certainly got the man's attention. The door flew open and the butler stared at her with a mixture of horror and fear. "You're who?"

Squaring her shoulders and stepping inside, Quinn glared at the slender man. "I am Quinn Fabray of Glenshea—the oldest child and heir of Phillip Pierce. _Who_ are you?"

"F-forgive me, my lady." He bowed. "I am Hummel."

The butler was staring at her differently now. His light eyes glittered with what looked like tears. If the old goat started bawling, Quinn was going to hit him—right after she got over feeling guilty for causing the man to cry.

"My God, you look just like him," Hummel whispered.

Quinn didn't need to be told who _him _was. "I do not," she retorted irrationally, her tone sharp. "Why don't you show me to where I might wait for the duchess?" Good lord, she had only just stepped foot inside the house and already she was acting like lady of the manner! Normally, she would be heartily ashamed of using her social status to intimidate another person, but she was still too mad to care about snooty Hummel and his feelings.

"This way, my lady." Hummel crossed the hall with a brisk pace. "Might I say it's an honor to finally meet you, Your Grace."

"Mm," Quinn grunted, not trusting herself to speak.

The entrance hall of the house was just as impressive as the outside, with its smooth marble floor and lifelike statues of Greek gods and goddesses. Quinn was grateful Hummel was in front of her and couldn't see her head turning from side to side as she gazed in wonder at the beautiful sculptures and paintings surrounding her.

And it was all hers? It seemed too incredible to be true.

Hummel led her into a small parlor decorated in pink and white. It was very feminine, very doll-like in its décor. It was obviously a room used exclusively by a woman.

Seated on a dainty sofa was a mid-sized woman with chestnut hair just beginning to gray. She wore a black gown, and a black handkerchief was crumpled in the fist of her free hand.

"Your Grace," the butler intoned softly, as though dreading disturbing her when she was so obviously distraught. "There is someone here to see you."

Quinn waited for the woman to lift her head. She didn't. It was as though she hadn't heard.

Hummel flushed at her lack of response. "Your Grace?" He spoke loudly this time.

This time she heard him. Surprise registered on her features as she turned her gaze toward them.

"Yes, Hummel?" Her tone was hopeful. Had the dowager duchess been expecting her? Quinn wondered. Or would any interruption of her sorrow do?

The butler moved to allow her a full view of Quinn. "The duke's daughter, the new duchess, is here, Your Grace."

Perhaps Hummel could have chosen a better way of introduction. The mere mention of "duke" lit the woman's face with pleasure—until that second when she realized that her husband couldn't possibly be there. The disappointment and pain that shadowed her handsome features as she turned to gaze toward her visitor tugged painfully at Quinn's heart.

She looked at Quinn as though seeing a ghost.

"Oh my dear Lord," she whispered, pressing the handkerchief against her bosom. "You're Phillip's daughter."

It was hard not to feel for this woman, who was so obviously distraught by the blonde's presence. "I am, Duchess Brahm," she replied with a bow of her head and a curtsy.

The older woman rose to her feet and came toward Quinn with her hands held out. "Oh, you mustn't call me by my title—rather, _your _title, now. You must call me Carole." She clutched Quinn's hands. "After all, I should have been your stepmother."

Her use of "should have been" told Quinn that Carole knew something of her father's behavior toward her and her mother and that the older woman hadn't necessarily approved—a fact that instantly made the blonde warm toward her.

"I apologize if my arrival here has caused you any grief," Quinn told her as Carole led her to the tiny sofa. It looked as though it would break under their weight.

"Nonsense," Carole replied as she sat. "Needless to say we were very surprised. I'm afraid I knew nothing about you until just before Phillip died." She dabbed at her eyes.

Quinn was confused. "But just a moment ago—I mean, I thought you knew."

Shaking her head, Carole smiled sympathetically. "No. Phillip—your father—confessed everything to me on his deathbed. I was…greatly upset to discover that you had been kept from us all these years."

_Kept_ from them? She made it sound as though Quinn hadn't been allowed to visit rather than just plain hadn't been wanted.

"Us?" Surely Carole didn't expect her to believe that her father had actually wanted her?

"Yes. Myself and your half brother and half sister."

Brother and sister! Quinn could scarcely believe her ears! All her life she had wanted a brother or a sister, someone to share her mixed Scottish-English heritage and who understood her.

But her brother and sister weren't like her. They were English.

"Yes. You have a sister, Brittany, and a brother named Finn," Carole told her, smiling gently at the blonde's obvious surprise.

At that precise moment, the door to the parlor flew open and in ran a young woman of perhaps seventeen or eighteen years of age. She wore a pale lavender gown—a suitable color for half mourning—and her tawny-colored hair trailed down her back in a mass of heavy waves and pink ribbon.

"Is it really her?" she cried and froze when her gaze landed on Quinn.

It was almost like a blow to the chest when their eyes met. Although no one would mistake them for twins, and although Brittany was several inches taller than her and had eyes that were a startling shade of blue, there was no denying that this girl was her sister, for she had the same high cheekbones and angular jaw as Quinn, traits they inherited from their father.

Quinn rose to her feet just in time to catch the taller blonde as she flung herself into her arms with a joyful "Oh!" Quinn had not expected this kind of reception. She had not expected their kindness.

Not quite certain what to do, she returned Brittany's exuberant embrace with a rather awkward one of her own, and then stepped back so she could look at her younger sister.

"I'm so glad you are here," Brittany gushed. "When Father told us about you, I couldn't believe that I had a sister, and a Scottish one at that! I do so love your poet Mr. Burns!"

A soft chuckle escaped Quinn. "We're rather fond of Robbie ourselves, thank you."

Brittany's expression changed to one of sorrow, bringing out the dark circles under her bright eyes. It was a reminder to Quinn that although her sister seemed all smiles and laughter, she was still mourning her father. It had been only a few months since Phillip Pierce died, but it had been a lengthy illness that had claimed him, softening the blow of his loss only a little.

"Well, well," came a voice from the far side of the room. "Unless I am mistaken, I'd say my elder sister has finally arrived."

The voice was soft and cultured, rigidly polite, but something about it sent a shiver down Quinn's spine. She turned toward the door where a young man, a little younger but much taller than herself, stood staring at her with a resentful gaze.

Finn Pierce had his father's height, but that was it. In all other respects he looked almost exactly like his mother—deep brown hair, brown eyes, and somewhat plain features. Quinn wondered if that was the reason her brother's eyes narrowed when they took in her own appearance. As much as she despised her father, Quinn's mother always told her she looked as much like him as a girl could and still be lovely.

Brittany skipped toward Finn, oblivious to the tension between the two siblings.

"Oh, Finn! Isn't it wonderful?" she cried, snatching up his large hand and pulling him toward Quinn. "And doesn't she look just like Papa?"

Hostility radiated off of Finn, and Quinn couldn't blame him. The boy had obviously spent his entire life thinking he was going to be the heir, only to have it taken away from him by a sibling he never even knew existed. And to make matters worse, it was taken away by a _girl_—practically unheard of in English society.

As he came closer, Quinn realized that Finn had been the lunatic on horseback who had sent her diving into the grass. Any sympathy she felt for her brother died a quick death.

Obviously, Finn came to the same realization as soon as Quinn had. "I say," he said, the slightest edge of a taunt to his voice. "You're the person I almost ran down on the lane, aren't you?"

"What?" Carole cried, rising to her feet. "Finn, whatever were you thinking?"

Finn smiled at his mother, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, Quinn noticed. "I wasn't expecting anyone to be _walking_ up our drive, Mama. Besides"—his gaze drifted back to Quinn—"no harm done, eh, old girl?"

Quinn's lips stretched tightly. "None."

"Not like you can't afford a new skirt now that you're the heir," Finn continued, his eyes as hard as stone while his voice remained light and jovial. "Still, I apologize for my shabby behavior." He extended his hand.

Quinn took it. "And I apologize for being born first," she replied, her tone equally as bright as her brother's had been, but she applied just the slightest pressure to her brother's hand, letting him know she wasn't fooled by the false politeness.

For one instant, Finn's mask slipped and Quinn saw just how hurt and angry he was. Oh yes, her father had a lot to answer for. Perhaps she and her brother would find some kind of truce over their mutual anger where their father was concerned.

"I took the liberty of having a room prepared for you," Carole remarked as Quinn released her brother's hand. "All you need to do is send for your belongings."

"I wouldn't want to intrude…" Quinn's voice trailed off as both Carole and Brittany insisted she stay. It was her house, after all.

She had to admit, she would like the chance to get to know them better, and there was a certain satisfaction in sleeping under that roof, knowing her father was probably rolling over in his grave at the mere thought of it.

"You _must_," Carole insisted. "I simply refuse to take no for an answer. It's your house and you must treat it as such, beginning with joining us for dinner tonight. Finn's betrothed and her parents will be joining us."

Finn looked decidedly uncomfortable. "I'm sure my sister has better things to do this evening, Mama."

"On the contrary," Quinn informed him with a broad grin, ignoring the niggling of guilt in her stomach. "I'd be delighted."

* * *

"Haven't you heard a word I've said?"

"Hm?" Turning from the carriage window, Rachel met her mother's angry gaze. "I'm sorry, Mama. I thought you were talking to Papa."

That was a lie. Rachel's father was snoring softly on the seat beside her mother. The man had only to look inside a carriage and he was sound asleep.

Her mother made a _tsking_ sound. "You know what your father is like. You should have known I was speaking to you instead of woolgathering. La, I have no idea what you find to daydream about all the time."

Rachel smiled humorlessly. Any other mother whose daughter was engaged would assume her daughter was thinking about her upcoming wedding, but not Shelby Berry. She always suspected Rachel of having her head in the clouds.

Which was true for the most part. Thinking about her marriage always made her nervous, especially since Finn had moved the date from next April to the coming October. He wanted to have it even sooner, but Rachel's mother had insisted on having enough time to prepare.

Surely his desire to marry her so quickly meant something, didn't it?

"I daydream about many things, Mama. Didn't you when you were a girl?"

"Bah!" her mother scoffed, her extravagant hat bouncing as the carriage hit a rut. "I never bothered with such frivolities."

That was because her mother had no imagination. "That's too bad."

Her mother snorted. "Too bad? Too bad? Gel, you spend too much time with your head in the clouds and not enough time thinking about the world around you. You should be happy with what you've got, not clouding your mind with flights of fancy."

"I enjoy flights of fancy," Rachel replied peevishly. Oh, why was she even bothering to argue? Her mother would never see her point.

"You'll enjoy being the Duchess of Brahm even more," Shelby retorted, jabbing the air with a bony finger.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Mama, you know very well that now that Finn has discovered he has an older sister whom the duke named as his heir, he won't inherit the title."

"Fustian. You're too young to know about such things, but I know that half of these 'over the anvil' marriages performed in Scotland are illegitimate. Finn assures me that this _girl_ is no more the heir to his father's title than I am. All he has to do is prove it."

Rachel doubted that the late duke's marriage to his Scottish wife was such a sham. Carole and Brittany certainly believed it was legitimate, as had the duke himself. She understood Finn's disappointment, but really she didn't see that there was any way he could claim the title instead of his sister. And Finn, ever the gentleman, would never dare to anything to risk his own reputation, such as trying to prove his sister illegitimate. Would he?

She glanced out the window at the sinking sun as they rolled toward Mayfair. "Well, obviously the duke believed she was legitimate or he never would have named her as his heir."

Her mother waved a bejeweled hand in dismissal. "Then why had he kept the girl a secret all these years?" She tapped the floor of the carriage with her cane. "No, I believe Brahm named the girl as his heir out of spite. Didn't Finn say that he and his father had quarreled before he died? No doubt the old man was spiteful enough to want to cut his own son out of his rightful inheritance."

It seemed to Rachel that the duke had been trying to ensure that his firstborn child didn't get cut out of her rightful inheritance and that's why he made news of the young woman's existence known. Of course, her mother was terribly loyal to the boy she had chosen to be her son-in-law and nothing could be said to sway her.

"I don't know what's so important about a title anyway," she muttered.

A bubble of laughter welled up in her chest at her mother's expression of shock and outrage.

"What's so important about a title? I'll tell you what's so important about a title—a title makes the difference between being a lady and being a tradesman's daughter. It's what will make you and your family acceptable. _That's _what's important."

Rachel raised a brow but said nothing. What was important was her mother gaining a place in London society. Her mother might treat her like a child, but at eighteen Rachel was old enough to know certain things, and one thing she knew for certain was that her mother was more obsessed with wealth and position than anyone had a right to be. She was also using her daughter to gain the social prestige she had never been able to achieve on her own. Despite what connections their family might claim, very few of those connections even bothered to speak to them.

Turning her gaze to the window once more, Rachel watched the scenery pass by. Soon they would be coming up on Hyde Park where there might still be the odd person walking or riding, even though the fashionable hour of five o'clock had long since come and gone.

Had Miss Fabray gone for a ride in Hyde Park that afternoon? Or had she gone home and read Byron's poetry? Before her mother had interrupted her, Rachel had been daydreaming that that was exactly what she had done. She pictured the blonde so clearly with her shirtsleeves rolled up over ever-so-slightly tanned, lean forearms. She would read Byron's words of passion and her thoughts would turn to Rachel as she had promised they would.

But now Rachel imagined her in Hyde Park instead. Rachel imagined herself standing on the grass talking with a friend and spying her riding toward her, astride a gray stallion that she managed to control with little effort. Her stunning sun-streaked hair was billowing in the breeze. Her powder blue blouse hugged her well-rounded breasts and her gray skirt clung to her strong, shapely legs…

"Will you pay attention!"

Rachel yelped and jumped. Her father bolted upright with a snort and series of incoherent syllables. And Shelby Berry stared at her daughter with eyes that glittered like little black gems and a face that was magenta with rage.

"You have not heard a word I've said," she seethed.

Rachel didn't know whether to laugh or to jump from the carriage and run for her life.

She made a mistake.

She laughed.

If at all possible, her mother's face grew even redder, and in the dim light of the carriage, almost seemed to glow with anger. Rachel had never seen her mother so upset.

"I can't believe you're laughing when all of our plans could very well be—"

"Oh, look," Rachel's father said as the carriage rolled to a stop. "We're here."

Sighing in relief, Rachel wrapped her light shawl around her shoulders. The carriage door opened and her father stepped out first, then turned to offer his hand to her mother.

"You're going to have to learn how to act pretty quickly there, missy," her mother hissed when Mr. Berry left the carriage. "Your husband will demand much more than just a listening ear from you, and you had better attend his wishes. There will be no crawling back to us when you realize that you can't always have things your own way."

Rachel stared at her, her expression blank despite the anxiety swirling in her stomach and her heart pounding against her ribs. "I have never crawled to you for anything Mama. I don't expect to start anytime soon."

Shelby Berry's eyes narrowed as she shook her ringleted head. "Where did I go wrong? Haven't I always tried to do what was best for you? I buy you the best clothes, sent you to the best schools."

"What have you done other than dictate what I wear, who I'm friends with, and who I marry?" Rachel demanded, her own temper rising. "So far, you have done _nothing _for me and everything for yourself!"

Her mother gasped in outrage, and for a moment Rachel feared that her mother might actually strike her. Cringing, she waited for the blow. It didn't come. Opening her eyes, she found her mother staring at her as if she were a stranger.

"Are you two coming?" Mr. Berry asked as he stuck his head inside the door. "I'm famished."

Shelby rolled her eyes. "Simpleton," she muttered and stormed out of the carriage, ignoring the hand her husband offered.

As Rachel moved to follow, her father seized her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry, blackbird," he whispered, using his old nickname for her as he helped her to the ground. "Your mother just wants you to have what I could never give her."

Unexpected tears pricked the backs of Rachel's eyes as she gazed up at her father. He knew more than she realized. She could see the hurt in his eyes, but there was love there as well.

"Thank you, Papa."

"I thought you were hungry," Shelby's voice snapped and Rachel winced. All those years of having people drill manner and social behavior into her daughter's head and Shelby had never absorbed any of it herself.

They were greeted at the door by Hummel, who seemed highly agitated. Usually the man was as controlled and emotionless as cold molasses, but not so tonight. He had a feverish brightness to his eyes and a nervousness to his movements.

There was an aura of excitement and energy inside Brahm House that was alien to Rachel. When the old duke had been alive, the house always seemed happy and comfortable—less so, of course, as his illness worsened, but this was different. This felt like the entire house was on its toes, waiting and watching for something to happen.

Hummel led them to the blue drawing room—the room the family always met in before dinner. Rachel noticed there was an extra guest with them tonight.

A woman with long blonde hair stood against the mantel, talking in earnest with Brittany, Finn's younger sister. The expression on the woman's face was so near that on Brittany's that Rachel marveled at the resemblance. No wonder the whole house was ablaze—this was the mysterious heir! There was something familiar about her.

"Mr. and Mrs. Berry. Miss Berry."

The stranger started at the sound of her name, and the anxiety Rachel had felt earlier blossomed into full-fledged panic when the stranger turned her head and met her gaze.

"You," Rachel whispered as all eyes turned toward her.

Her fiancé's sister was also her Miss Fabray.

* * *

**A/N: Ooooo, how will Quinn react to finding out the object of her-albeit reluctant-affection is engaged to her brother Finn? We shall see in chapter three! Hehe, that rhymed.**

**I hope you guys liked this chapter! I'll be back as soon as I can with the third chapter :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Salutations, perusers of the written word! :)**

**Reviewers who are anonymous: **

_**Guest -**_**Thanks for the review! Haha, you can feel whatever you want for Finn ;) Hmmm...maybe Quinn will, and maybe she won't. And maybe Rachel will, and maybe she won't. Only time will tell *cackles* ;) Anywho, thanks again for the review, and I hope you like this chapter! :)**

_**HD -**_**Thanks! Here's chapter 3! :)**

_**jock -**_**Thank you for the review! Hahaha, you know you loved the cliff hanger last chapter, don't lie ;) I'm really glad you gave this story a try! I'm even _more _thrilled that you like it so much already! :D Haha, yes, it will definitely be an interesting dynamic between Finn and Quinn, but will it be volatile or passive-aggressive? We'll see as the story progresses ;) I'm really glad you're liking Quinn! And the Faberry meet! :D It was definitely my favorite part writing so far :) Don't know if Santana or the grandmother will be making an appearance again in this story, though...We'll just have to see where the plot takes us :) Anyway, thanks again for the review, and I hope the rest of the story doesn't disappoint! :)**

_**Em -**_**Thanks for the review! I hope you like this chapter! :)**

**Hmmm...Can't think of anything else right now, so happy reading, everyone! :)**

* * *

Quinn was amazed she could even find her voice. The one girl who managed to turn her head was her brother's fiancé. How bitterly ironic. "Good evening, Miss Berry."

Finn, who had risen as soon as Rachel and her family were announced, cast a suspicious glance in Quinn's direction. "You two have met?" He turned to Rachel for verification.

Rachel nodded. "We have. This afternoon, in fact. In the bookshop." She looked every bit as alarmed to see Quinn as she was to see the diminutive brunette. "Forgive my loss of manners, Miss Fabray—I mean, Your Grace. I had no idea of who you were."

"Why would you?" Finn interjected brightly, looking closely at Rachel. "It's not as though any of us have met her before."

Quinn's expression didn't change. Was it just her imagination or did her brother take every opportunity to slight her? She couldn't blame Finn for resenting her, but it wasn't as though Quinn had asked to be her father's heir. She would be happy to still be a secret if it wasn't for the fact that the money would set her home, and especially her people, back on their feet.

"And why is it that the two of you have never met before, Miss Fabray?" Mrs. Berry asked. Her tone was deceptively innocent, but Quinn didn't miss the sly glance she cast her brother. What the devil was going on?

Rachel's gaze dropped to the floor. Her cheeks flushed a dark red. She was obviously embarrassed by her mother's behavior, and Quinn's resentment of the woman grew. She knew what the older woman was getting at. She was questioning the validity of Quinn's parents' marriage, and therefore questioning the legitimacy of her birth! It was perhaps the biggest insult the woman could bestow upon her—upon anyone.

Angered beyond belief, Quinn held the woman's haughty gaze, clenching her jaw against the desire to put her soundly in her place. She sucked a deep breath between her grinding teeth.

"Because in accordance with Fabray tradition, ma'am, the title passed through my mother to me. In such cases, the heir takes Fabray as his or her surname to keep the name alive." She smiled coldly as Mrs. Berry's confident expression faded.

"And, incidentally, I'm not a 'miss.' Even without my father's title I am the Countess of Keir. You may address me by either title. I have several lesser ones as well, Viscountess Dunkirk, Baroness Kyne. You may take your pick." She had tried to keep her tone light, but she couldn't keep a note of condescension from creeping in. How dare this woman question her birth or her rank! And how dare she insult the memory of Quinn's mother by doing so.

Shelby Berry's face paled. She dipped a small curtsy in the blonde's direction. "I beg your pardon, my lady."

Quinn nodded in acknowledgement of her apology. She believed the brunette to be sincere. Of course she would be sorry to insult a peer of the realm. Quinn had found that many people in England went out of their way to please someone with a title. Part of her liked all the bowing and scraping from the English, ordinarily so disdainful of the Scots. Another part of her found it embarrassing.

She turned her attention to Rachel, who still looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Thank you so much for your suggestion, Miss Berry. I am quite enjoying the book—even though I haven't had the opportunity to read much of it in the last few hours."

Rachel's head came up and her dark eyes seemed unnaturally large in her face. She wasn't as pale as most English girls, being a true brunette and of Jewish ancestry, and a delicate blush turned her complexion a marvelous mixture of honey and roses.

_And all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes…_

"I'm glad you're enjoying it, Your Grace." Her voice was soft and clear, just how Quinn remembered it. Just the sound of it sent a shiver down her spine. She would like to hear the brunette read some of Byron's poetry aloud.

"I am," she replied, staring deep into Rachel's eyes. "Every poem makes me think of beauty."

Rachel's blush deepened, and Quinn knew that the beautiful brunette remembered the blonde telling her that she would think of her whenever she read the book.

"What book is this?" Finn demanded, not quite succeeding in keeping his tone light. His intense gaze fell upon Rachel. A stab of guilt mixed with regret hit Quinn in the stomach. She had no business flirting with Rachel as she had been. Rachel was her brother's betrothed. Quinn had no business evening thinking about Rachel as she did, but the blonde couldn't help what she though, just as she couldn't act upon it. Rachel was out of her reach, and she would do well to remember that.

"Miss Berry recommended I try your poet Byron, brother." Calling the younger man by such a familiar term felt odd, especially since she believed Finn despised her thoroughly. "I must admit to being completely enthralled by his poetry."

Mrs. Berry gasped and Finn's jaw tightened. They both stared at Rachel as though she had committed a heinous crime. Instantly, Quinn regretted having said a word.

"Rachel!" her mother chastised. "Tell me _you_ haven't been reading such filth!"

So not only did Rachel's mother question her birth, but now she questioned Quinn's morals through her reading material? Filth? To be sure, Byron could be a little naughty in his work. He was also incredibly passionate, and Quinn would hardly call such genius filth.

"Calm yourself, Mrs. Berry," Finn advised, taking Rachel's hand. "'Tis no serious offense. Although Byron is hardly proper fare for an unmarried girl, Rachel will be able to read whatever she wants—provided it's not too shocking—once we're married."

The reminder that her brother—her unlikable, undeserving brother—was going to marry this radiant girl made Quinn's blood boil. No doubt Finn believed he was doing Rachel and her family a great service by bestowing his magnificence upon them.

"And who will decide what is too shocking and what isn't?" Quinn asked with false humor. The gall! As if Rachel hadn't enough intelligence to choose her own books! The very idea of it was foolish. Unfortunately, there were many people—women included—who believed that certain novels and poetry could damage a young girl's delicate mind.

Finn smiled, but his eyes were filled with malice. Could no one else see it? Or was Quinn's guilty conscience simply running away with her?

"I will, of course," he replied, as though he thought the answer was obvious. "I think a husband might safely choose his wife's reading material."

"Quite right," Mrs. Berry agreed with a pleased smile.

Carole, who had remained silent throughout the entire conversation, fixed her son with an expression of disappointment. "Your father never dictated what I could and could not read, Finn."

The young man had the grace to look duly chastised, and Rachel, who had seemed to retreat into her own little world out of shame and humiliation, appeared strengthened by her future mother-in-law's words.

With a defiant lift of her chin, Rachel pulled her hand free of Finn's. "Thank you, Your Grace. I believe I will expect the same courtesy and trust from my spouse." Her voice quivered as she spoke, as though speaking her mind in front of Finn was not something she usually did. She didn't even look at her fiancé.

Quinn wanted to applaud her show of backbone, but wisely kept her mouth shut as Finn scowled at the brunette's announcement. Mrs. Berry, her face ruddy, opened her mouth to respond.

"Let's go in to dinner, shall we?" the dowager duchess spoke, cutting off anything the other woman might have said.

Carole came up to Quinn, her eyes sparkling with emotion. She didn't approve of Mrs. Berry's actions—or Finn's for that matter—Quinn could tell, but there was sadness in her gaze as well. She missed her husband very much, and Quinn was instantly contrite for contributing to the scene with Finn, Rachel, and her mother. Mr. Berry had seemed blissfully unaware of the tension. Of course, the thin man had seemed to doze through most of it.

"Will you escort me, Quinn?"

Quinn smiled. "I would be honored." It wasn't as though Carole had singled her out—the two people of highest rank always walked in to dinner together, but Quinn felt as though the grieving woman had chosen her. A little voice inside her told Quinn she reminded the other woman of her father, and although the comparison chafed, she realized that Carole had meant it as a compliment.

What wasn't so easy to accept was being expected to take her father's place at the table. Finn didn't look very happy about it either. No doubt he was used to having the head of the table as his seat since their father's death. He could keep it for all Quinn cared.

"Finn," she said softly, standing beside the high-backed oak chair. "I believe this is usually your seat. I would be happy to sit elsewhere if you wish."

Surprise lit her brother's features, followed by a bitter twist of his mouth. "Thank you, Quinn," he replied, his tone one of gentlemanly blandness. "But as head of the family it is your seat _for now._"

The slight emphasis on _for now_ set off an alarm inside Quinn's head. Finn saw her as an intruder, as a fraud, and he was going to try to prove it. The idea formed with such clarity in Quinn's mind that she was stunned by it. That's why Rachel was so embarrassed for her, why her mother had been so catty. They all thought she was a bastard and were just waiting for Finn to uncover the truth!

Seating herself, Quinn tried to school her features into a cool mask as her gaze traveled over those seated before her. She couldn't believe Carole or Brittany capable of any kind of deception, nor could she bring herself to believe it of Rachel. She could, however, well believe it of her brother and Rachel's mother, while her father Quinn wasn't so certain of. Finn had spent his entire life expecting to be duke. It was understandable that he wouldn't give it up without a fight. As for Rachel's mother, well, she was a greedy woman, that was obvious. She no doubt preferred her daughter to be a duchess rather than the wife of a second born.

It was ridiculous, though! Perhaps _she_ had been reading one too many novels or tales of fancy. She was losing her grip on reality. Finn and Mrs. Berry couldn't possibly be plotting against her. Could they? Did Finn care that much about some foolish title that he would ruin Quinn's reputation—and her life—just to claim it?

Yes. Everything in the way Finn behaved indicated that he was a young man accustomed to being a duke's son and had fully expected to inherit the title. Their father should have told him the truth a long time ago. It wasn't right.

Finn spoke quietly to Rachel, favoring her with a charming smile, no doubt in the hopes of winning her favor again.

Quinn wondered if Rachel loved Finn. Watching her now, the color still high in her smooth cheeks, Quinn believed she was still upset with Finn for announcing he would censor her reading material. The blonde couldn't blame her for being angry. Her brother was a complete idiot if he wanted to change a single thing about Rachel.

"So," Quinn began when it became apparent that no one else was going to start conversation. "When is the wedding?"

It was the last question she wanted an answer to, but it kept her mind focused. Quinn shouldn't be meditating on the allures of her brother's intended. She shouldn't begrudge her brother some happiness. She shouldn't be jealous over a girl she didn't even know.

Rachel ladled soup from a silver tureen into her bowl and didn't meet her gaze. "October." She smiled softly at Carole. "On the late duke's birthday," the brunette finished softly with a warm smile.

"That's October tenth," Finn informed Quinn, lifting his spoon. "In case you didn't know."

Quinn gritted her teeth at her brother's innocent expression. "Actually, I did know, thank you. I vaguely remember that my mother celebrated it alone after my father left us. She died shortly after." The minute the words left her mouth, she regretted them. She didn't want them to know how much pain her father's leaving had caused her mother, and she certainly didn't want to give them any more fodder against her.

Carole looked positively stricken. Quinn thought Finn and Mrs. Berry looked decidedly pleased. She hated the two of them in that moment. Her mother's suffering was not anything to smile over.

She glanced at Rachel. The brunette looked sad. Quinn didn't want the other girl to be sad for her.

"Perhaps Finn's wedding will make the date a happier occasion for you, Quinn," Brittany remarked in a hopeful tone.

Because she was so sweet, Quinn forced a smile. "No doubt you are right, Brittany." Right now she couldn't imagine feeling even a thimbleful of joy at the occasion. It was like Beauty being married off to the Beast, but all of Finn's ugliness was inside. Of course, there was always the chance that Rachel's beauty was merely skin-deep and that she and Finn deserved each other.

Rubbish.

"It must be wonderful to have found the perfect bride at your age," Quinn commented to Finn. "You can't be any more than what, eighteen?" She kept her voice bland, but she knew how old her brother was. He was almost exactly four years younger, having been born less than a year after their father married Carole. Not even a year after Quinn's mother was buried.

Her brother cast a warm smile in Rachel's direction. "Yes it is," he agreed as she blushed. "Some people never find the right one and are forced to marry someone they cannot abide for money or connections."

Quinn fought the urge to sneer. "I can't imagine what it would be like to meet the person I would want to spend the _rest _of my life with. I mean, knowing that you're going to be spending the next forty or fifty years with the same person…It's awe inspiring."

Finn smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yes, it is."

Rachel stared at her with an expression Quinn couldn't read. Had she insulted the brunette in her attempt to rankle her brother? That hadn't been her intention at all. Chastised, Quinn offered her what she hoped was an apologetic smile. Rachel smiled back.

"When I marry I want it to be to someone with whom I can spend the rest of my life," Brittany announced. "I refuse to settle for anything less."

Quinn smiled at Brittany's youthful conviction, despite the tension at the table. "I have no doubt you will find someone to love you for the rest of their lucky life, Brittany."

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Finn made a scoffing noise. "Marriages of the _ton_ are built on more than such a silly notion as love."

"Oh?" Quinn cocked a brow. Hadn't her brother waxed about the merit of wedding his perfect match not even five minutes ago? "What else are they based on?"

"Yes, Finn," Rachel rejoined quietly with a lift of her sharp little chin. "What else?"

"Respectability, connections, common interests, blood, and wealth of course," Finn replied, sticking his spoon in his soup. "Obviously affection is important in a marriage, but good bloodlines are just as important. You want to know what you're getting into."

The poor sod didn't even know he was digging a hole for himself, Quinn realized. She couldn't figure out if she envied or pitied her brother being brought up to believe himself always right. It must have been their father who had taught him such arrogance. Carole certainly hadn't.

Quinn sipped her wine. "Sounds more like a business arrangement than a marriage."

Finn's brows drew together. "_My_ father taught me that the most successful people treat their life like a business arrangement."

"His public life, maybe," Carole interjected, "but _your _father never treated his family like a 'business arrangement.'"

Quinn longed to correct her, but remained silent. What had she been if not the result of such an arrangement gone wrong?

Finn ignored his mother. "He also taught me that someone who is ruled by their emotions is a fool."

"Did he?" Quinn inquired coolly, taking another drink of her wine.

"Yes. He did."

Quinn met Finn's challenging gaze. "Then how fortunate I consider myself that he taught me nothing."

The air fairly crackled with tension as they stared each other down.

"Roast pheasant, Your Grace?"

Quinn glanced at the platter Rachel held directly under her nose. It wasn't subtle, but the brunette had managed to end the standoff between the siblings.

"Thank you, Miss Berry." The footman had taken her soup bowl, so Quinn took the platter and helped herself to some of the tender meat.

"And how are you enjoying London?" Rachel asked once the blonde had passed the platter to Brittany.

With an inward sigh, Quinn allowed herself to be led into meaningless, polite conversation. By the time the dinner was over she was heartily sick of the sound of her own voice, but she was entirely grateful to Rachel for putting an end to her embarrassing behavior. Quinn should know better than to allow her brother to get to her. There was no excuse for rude or inconsiderate behavior, and Quinn's remarks about her father were certainly inconsiderate in regard to Carole and Brittany.

After dinner, the entire party retired to the drawing room. Finn wasn't interested in drinking port and Mr. Berry didn't seem to care either way, so the gentlemen followed the ladies to the blue drawing room where Brittany and Rachel entertained them at the pianoforte.

Brittany played beautifully and Rachel had a lovely singing voice. A dim memory of her father singing to her and bouncing her on his lap drifted into Quinn's mind, seizing her heart with icy tentacles. Why had she never remembered it before?

When the two girls had finished, everyone applauded politely.

"Do you play, Quinn?" Carole asked from her seat beside the blonde. "We have no—what do you call them?—bagpipes, Mama," Finn joked. Mrs. Berry laughed.

A tight smile curved Quinn's lips. "No matter, brother. I play the piano just as well as the pipes."

"Not a very worthwhile occupation for a peer of the realm," Finn replied with false jocularity, folding his arms across his chest.

Carole fixed him with an admonishing gaze. "Your father played."

Finn flushed to the roots of his hair. The red of his cheeks was a sharp contrast to the bright white of his collar where it brushed his jaw.

Feeling sorry for her brother for being chastised so many times in one evening, Quinn attempted to draw the room's attention.

"My mother," she said with a wide grin, "taught me that a good Scot should be able to wield a sword with one hand and make music with the other—preferably at the same time."

The women laughed—even Mrs. Berry managed a smile. Mr. Berry was sound asleep on the sofa beside her, and Finn stared at Quinn with an expression that could be described only as snide superiority.

"What a charmingly barbaric notion!" he cried, his voice ringing with mocking laughter.

Shocked stillness descended over the room. Even Mrs. Berry looked surprised by the outburst. She squirmed uncomfortably on the sofa. Carole paled.

Brittany stared at the floor, and Rachel stared wide-eyed at her fiancé, but no one looked at Quinn except for Finn. Quinn held his gaze. If Finn sought to intimidate or humiliate her, he had chosen the wrong way to go about it. Her mother was a saint as far as Quinn as concerned, and insulting her didn't hurt Quinn, it just made her very, very angry.

She had had enough, and the resentment and animosity she had felt from and toward her brother all night exploded into an inferno of rage. How she managed to keep from strangling Finn, she would never know.

Rising to her feet, she seemed to tower over them all, drawing their hesitant gazes like a carriage accident.

She wanted to rage, wanted to drive her fist into her brother's face, but that would only prove herself a barbarian, not only in Finn's eyes, but possibly in Rachel's as well, and Quinn was determined to prove herself the better person.

"And one I learned well," she replied, smiling brightly in Finn's direction. "Would you care for a demonstration?"

Finn arched a haughty brow. "I'm afraid we're a little too civilized to have any swords in the house, but I would be happy to accompany you to a fencing gallery if you desire."

It was as close to a challenge as her brother could issue and still retain his tenuous hold on his gentlemanly façade.

Quinn accepted the dare with a cool smile and a slight incline of her head. "I would enjoy that." And she would. She would enjoy any opportunity to put this spoiled brat in his place. It was very hard to have any sympathy for her brother at all.

She held Finn's stony gaze, forcing the young man to look away first. Finn crossed the carpet to the liquor cabinet with his back stiff. He poured himself a glass of port.

Quinn turned to Carole, who stared at her with tears in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

What she was sorry for, Quinn had no idea. She bent down and took the older woman's hand, squeezing it with silent affection.

"'Tis I who should apologize," she replied, emotion bringing out the Scottish burr in her voice. "Forgive me. I shall take my leave now." She straightened and started for the door without a glance at anyone else. She didn't want to see how they regarded her. She especially didn't want to see Rachel's expression.

"You'll be here tomorrow, won't you, Quinn?" Brittany demanded urgently, as though her being there meant something to the taller blonde. "For the reading of the will?"

Quinn glanced from her sister to her brother, her countenance fading to a scowl. Finn looked entirely too sure of himself, as though he expected tomorrow to prove Quinn a fraud.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

* * *

"What a rude, awful child," Mrs. Berry remarked as the carriage rolled down the lane. Mr. Berry was already snoring in the corner beside her.

Rachel, who was thankful finally to be leaving Brahm House, nodded in weary agreement. "Yes. Finn's behavior was inexcusably rude tonight." Her father snorted in his sleep, as though he agreed with her. Rachel smiled.

"Finn!" Her mother's voice hit a pitch just short of glass-shattering. "I meant that dreadful Scot! What could Carole have been thinking inviting that barbarian into her house?"

Rachel frowned. Barbarian was not the word to describe Quinn at all. "It's _her_ house."

Her mother dismissed her with a wave of her bejeweled hand. "Rubbish. There's no way that creature is the Duchess of Brahm."

Pressing her hands to her eyes, Rachel fought the headache brewing behind them. "She is the duchess. Her father acknowledged her, the solicitor was sent for her. She is in the will, and she looks just like her father. What more proof do you need?"

Her mother's eyes narrowed. "You're too young to know about such things, but just because she's Brahm's child doesn't mean she's the legitimate heir. We discussed this earlier, don't you recall? I wouldn't be surprised if Finn discovered this Fabray character was born on the wrong side of the blanket."

Rachel was very tired of all this drama. What difference did it make? Let Quinn have her title. After all, it wasn't as if she had had the benefit of knowing her father.

"They were married, Mama. I'm sure a copy of Qui…the duchess' birth certificate will prove she was born after their marriage."

"Ah! But if they were married in Scotland in one of those foolish 'over the anvil' ceremonies, there's a very good chance the marriage wasn't legitimate!" Shelby smiled smugly.

Rachel hated her mother in that moment. Hated her right down to her bones for trying to ruin this young woman's life.

"What difference does it make to you whether or not she's legitimate?" But as soon as she asked the question, she knew the answer. "This isn't about Quinn or Finn. This is about you."

Her mother made a show of studying her rings.

Spurred by anger, Rachel leaned forward. In the dim light of the carriage, her mother's features were almost entirely in shadow.

"You want so badly to have a duke in the family that you don't care about anything else. You don't care if you ruin a young woman's life, and you certainly don't care whether or not your son-in-law loves your only daughter. You just want your precious title, and you're afraid I'm engaged to the wrong person!"

Shelby's hand came up and swung. Rachel caught her by the wrist, bringing a surprised gasp to her mother's lips.

"Strike me and you will have to find another way to get your duke because I won't be marrying anyone." Rachel couldn't believe how she was talking to her mother! It was as though someone else had snuck into her body while she wasn't looking. For that matter, ever since Rachel had agreed to marry Finn, her mother had been acting like a different person as well.

Shelby jerked her hand free with a glare. "You'll marry whom I tell you to or you'll be thrown out without a cent!" Her threat was softened by the tremble in her voice. She was scared. Scared of what?

Now it was Rachel's turn to be smug. "Papa would never allow it and you know it. Don't threaten me, Mama. I don't like it."

"You're an ungrateful child," Shelby retorted.

"Yes," Rachel agreed sarcastically as she leaned back against the velvet squabs. "I'm such an awful daughter for not allowing you to treat me like one of your lapdogs. Actually, I think you treat your dogs with more affection and respect."

Her mother regarded her with a hurt expression. "What is the matter with you? Can you not see that I want what's best for you?"

An unladylike snort broke forth from Rachel's lips. "I'm sure you do."

"Of course I do!" her mother snapped. "I'm not entirely without feeling, you know, no matter what you might think."

Rachel raised a brow but said nothing. No, she knew there was goodness in her mother, but lately all she had seen was greed and calculation. She didn't like it.

Sighing, her mother slumped back in her seat, not caring that she now held her sleeping husband's arm pinned between herself and the cushions.

"Do you not understand that I want a better life for you than what I had?"

What? "A better life?" Rachel echoed incredulously. "What was wrong with your life? You have money, a good husband—"

"Before your father made his fortune we lived in two rooms above his office. Sometimes I worried that we might lose everything and end up in debtor's prison. I don't ever want you to have to worry about money or position," Shelby explained despondently.

Softened, Rachel reached across and took her mother's hand. "Don't you want me to be happy as well?"

Shelby snatched back her hand. "I think I'd rather see you miserable and rich than happy and poor. Happiness does not put food in your belly."

"Or rings on my fingers," Rachel sneered, feeling her mother's rejection as keenly as a knife in the ribs. "I'm not you, and no matter how hard you try, you cannot fix your past by dictating my future."

With a stubborn lift of her chin, Shelby stared out the carriage window. There might have been tears glistening in her eyes, but Rachel couldn't be certain—and to be honest, she didn't want to know. "I can certainly try. And I can make certain you don't make the same mistakes I did."

"Yes," Rachel agree, her jaw clenched. "May the good Lord forbid I turn out like you."

Her mother recoiled as if slapped. "Have I been that horrible a mother to you?"

Sighing, Rachel massaged her temples. What had started as a minor discomfort had blossomed into throbbing pain.

"No," she replied. There was a time when her mother had been her best friend, but that had been years ago, long before Rachel had become a marketable commodity as a bride, and long before her mother had become completely dissatisfied with her own life. Perhaps if her father hadn't been in trade, her mother would have been happier with her life. Perhaps if he had been a lazy landowner who threw lavish parties and spent his autumns in the country hiding to hounds with other bored rich men, her mother wouldn't have to work so hard for those connections she seemed to hold so dear.

But her father wasn't a landowner. He was wealthy, but he was a city merchant. He might be a little embarrassing socially—especially since he had the unfortunate habit of falling asleep wherever they went—but that was only because he worked such long hours so Rachel and her mother could have all the finery her mother claimed they needed.

Maybe the gowns and jewels were just a substitute. Could that be the reason why her mother had become so greedy? Were the rings and silks her idea of motherly affection? If they were, Rachel felt sorry for her mother. And for the first time in her life, she felt a little more than annoyed with her father.

Shelby folded her arms across her bosom, her mouth set mulishly. "I have only tried to act in your best interest."

"But you're not," Rachel informed her, a weary edge to her voice. "You're acting in your own best interest. Can't you see that?"

"How is wanting you to have money and security acting in my own best interest?" her mother asked with a scoff.

"Because you haven't asked me if I want money and security!" Rachel cried. "You haven't asked me what I want at all."

Shelby stomped her foot, causing the floor to vibrate under Rachel's slippers. Her father snorted from the corner. "Are you trying to tell me that you would rather be poor and a social outcast? You didn't seem averse to all the money and security at Almack's the other night!"

Almack's was _the_ place to see and be seen in the upper ranks of London society. One had to be granted a voucher by one of the patronesses to even get in the door. It was every young girl's dream to dance at Almack's.

"Of course I'm not averse to them." Sighing, Rachel shook her head. "But there's more to life—more to marriage—than wealth and security. Don't you want me to marry someone I will love and be happy with?"

"You will be happy with Finn," her mother insisted. "And you will grow to love him. 'Tis a much better situation than marrying a man for love only to be disillusioned by the notion years later."

"Is that what happened to you?" Rachel asked softly.

Shelby averted her gaze. "Let's just say I had fanciful dreams in my youth as well—dreams that couldn't live up to a cruel and harsh reality."

Rachel glanced at her father. He was slumped against her mother's left side, snoring softly. Even their arguing couldn't wake him. He was a simple man, but Rachel couldn't imagine him ever being harsh or cruel. Of course, maybe if her husband would rather sleep than talk to her Rachel would be bitter too. But her parents had loved each other once, hadn't they? What had happened along the way?

"Perhaps Papa had dreams as well," she murmured.

Her mother turned back from the window. "Hm? Oh, yes, he did. Big dreams."

Her tone was so bitter that Rachel almost winced. "I'm sorry your life hasn't been what you expected, Mama, but you have to allow me the freedom to live my own life."

Shelby smiled at her. "You can live your life however you want to."

Dumbfounded, Rachel could only gape at her. "Really?" Was her mother finally ready to allow her to trust her own judgment?

"Really," her mother replied with a nod. "As soon as you're married. To Finn."

* * *

**A/N: Cheese and crackers, just when you thought Shelby would have a change of heart, she reverts back to her usual self...Poor Rachel. Hmmm...Wonder how the reading of the will is going to go down, what with Finn's obvious jealousy over Quinn and everything...Guess we'll find out in Chapter 4! :D**

**So...to those of you who actually read these things, I'm curious. Apparently, there are a large number of Brittana shippers who absolutely _hate_ Faberry and any story where both Faberry and Brittana are in it together. As an avid fan of _both _pairings, I don't really see what the problem is. Quinn and Rachel have some _serious_ chemistry, and I think it's obvious. But anyway, my question is this. Is there a similar sort of aversion to Brittana in Faberry stories for Faberry shippers? Just something I was wondering the other day when I saw a bunch of people bitching about the presence of Faberry in _dance-tilyou'redead_'s story _The Best Trick _(I personally was super excited about it, hehe). I mean, I've known there was such hostility toward Faberry with Brittana shippers, but it got me wondering if Faberry shippers feel the same way. If you feel like letting me know what you think, I'm all ears :) Totally no skin off my back if you're like "Oh, shut up, no one cares" haha :) **

**And with that, I'll shut up ;) I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, and I'll be back with #4 soon! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hi, everybody!**

**Just a quick note to say that I will not be updating next weekend because this coming week is Spring Break and I am going to Tennessee to visit my most favorite person ever, and I'll be studying most of my "free" time for a really important exam I have the week after Spring Break, so I won't be able to update again until the weekend of the 23rd. :)**

**Anonymous reviewers!**

_**Guest (#1) -**_**Thanks for the review! Lol, Finn does need a smackdown. We'll see if he gets it ;) Thanks for the input! I don't quite understand the animosity myself, lol, but I guess to each his/her own, right? :) Thanks again, and I hope you like this chapter!**

_**Guest (#2) - Hi, Guest! :D **_**Thanks for the review****! ****I have seen**_** Jane Eyre. **_**We watched it in my B****ritish literature class my first year of college :) I haven't seen**_** Downtown Abbey, **_**although it looks really good and I've been meaning to watch it. And I've never ****heard of**_** Mr. Selfridge. **_**I love reading historical fiction (****and nonfiction hehe), and I also love me a good period movie, like many of the adaptations of Jane Austen novels :) Anywho, I'm really glad that this story's setting and stuff are believable! Success! hehe :D I hope the rest of the story doesn't disap****point! :)**_**  
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_**Jock - **_**Thank you for the review! :) I'm so glad you're liking Quinn and her dynamic with Finn. You definitely nailed it on the head :) And, yes****, I figured Quinn would be adult about the situation because Lord knows Finn is just a big ass baby about everything, so she would try not to upset Finn's relationship with Rachel. There also might be a bit of prejudice going on there too, but I think Quinn will quickly overlook Rachel's Englishness hehe ;) Yeah, don't you just love when pompous people get put in their place? It's satisfying lol ;) As for the Brittana vs Faberry thing, thanks for the input! Lol, your aversion to Brittana is like me with Klaine (and basically any hetero c****ouple on**_** Glee **_**lol)****. I really don't like them. I don't like either of the characters separately that much anyway, and together, just...no thanks, lol. Which is why I will never read a Klaine story and never have them in any of my stories. And yeah, if they have a minimal presence, I'm cool with that, but not everywhere lol. Anywho, yeah, I agree. I mean, I ship both Brittana and Faberry, but I don't want one to dominate in a story that's labeled for the other couple. I don't mind equal portions or side stuff, but yeah, haha. Thanks again and I hope you like this chapter! **

_**Joey -**_**Thanks for the review! I hope the rest of the story doesn't disappoint! :D**

_**anon - **_**Thank**** you for the review! You're too kind *blushes* :D I'm so glad you are liking the story so much so far! I hope you enjoy the rest of it, too! :D **

**That's all I have for now; happy reading! :)**

* * *

"Why are you here?"

Startled, Quinn whirled around. So much for sneaking into the reading of her father's will unnoticed. She had even asked Hummel, who was now the very essence of servile humility, not to announce her. She hadn't counted on any of the family wandering about.

At least she wasn't as late as she had feared she would be. It had taken her forever to decide what to wear—not that she had much to choose from. Quinn hadn't wanted to attend the reading looking like an unsophisticated Scottish barbarian. And she didn't. Dressed in a dove gray wool skirt and dark blue silk blouse with her hair half pinned up and half falling down her back, she looked like a lady; she was perfectly dressed and perfectly styled. Even Finn wouldn't be able to fault how she looked. Quinn didn't even want to think about why she should care what other people thought of her appearance.

Correction. What _Rachel_ thought of her appearance—not that the brunette was likely to be there when they read Quinn's father's will.

"Good morning, Finn," she murmured, drawing back from the doorway so the rest of the family wouldn't see her. "I'm afraid I don't understand your question."

The young man's face tightened. "You heard me. Why are you here?"

A humorless smile curved Quinn's lips. "A little bald man came to Scotland and invited me. Said something about me being in the will."

If Finn's face became any stonier they would be able to stick him on top of the house and use him as a gargoyle.

"Yes, I know. That's why I want to know why you're here. We already expect you to take everything. Have you come to lord it over us? Do you plan to take your revenge on all of us and evict us into the street? Will you punish us all for how you feel my father treated you?

Quinn stared back at her brother in shock. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. How could Finn even think such a thing? Is it what he would do to Quinn were their roles reversed?

"I would never do that," she replied once she found her voice. "It is our father you're angry at, Finn. I'm angry at him too. We shouldn't take it out on each other."

Finn snorted. "What reason do you have to be angry? You will get everything—the title, the house, the money. You'll have it all."

Swallowing her pride, Quinn met her brother's wounded gaze with a frank one of her own. "I never had a father, and that would have meant more to me than any title or fortune. At least you had him."

Finn stared at Quinn as though she had sprouted a third eye. "And what good will having him do me now? All my life I have been groomed to be something I was never going to become, and he knew it! He knew you would be the heir and he never told me. Never!"

Such raw hurt and anger was painful to look upon. Quinn didn't know what to say.

"I want to ask a favor of you," Finn said after a moment's silence.

"Anything," Quinn replied and regretted the word as soon as it left her mouth. It was awful of her, but she still didn't quite trust her brother and she couldn't help thinking she was being set up.

Finn looked as though he had just bitted into something very bitter, so distasteful was his expression. "I would ask you to take care of my mother and Brittany in the event that I am not able to. I would hate for them to suffer any more than they already have."

_And they'd all suffered because of me_, Quinn thought grimly. They must all think her some kind of monster to believe she would toss them out into the street, but what did they know of her? Quinn was a stranger to them, and they were intelligent enough to know how she despised her father, so of course they would wonder if she would avenge herself on them.

"I will look after them." And she would. They were welcome to remain at Brahm House for as long as they wanted. It wasn't as though she had any use for the place, and she planned on returning to Glenshea as soon as she could.

Finn gave a sharp nod. "Good."

"But I'm certain you have nothing to worry about. I'm sure you have been well looked after." Quinn didn't know much about her father, but she knew that Carole, Brittany, and even Finn had loved the man—he wouldn't leave the family he had wanted without a penny.

Her brother didn't reply, just looked at her with a strange expression Quinn couldn't read. She couldn't shake the feeling that Finn was playing with her, that he was up to something. But before she could read any more into it, Finn turned his back to her.

Quinn's gaze followed her brother as he walked away until she became aware of the oddest sensation of being watched. She was.

Her heart flipped over in her chest as her gaze met Rachel's, and a shiver of awareness ran down her spine. Dark and frank, Rachel's eyes seemed to stare right into the very soul of Quinn. _Does she like what she sees there?_ the blonde wondered. Quinn surely liked what she saw when she looked at Rachel.

She was dressed austerely today. Her glossy dark hair was pulled high up onto her head in a simple knot. She wore no jewelry and a gown of a blue silk so dark it was almost black. Her only adornment was the soft rose of her cheeks and a single lily pinned to her breast. She stole Quinn's breath, she looked so lovely.

Who would have thought that she would feel such excitement at the sight of an English girl? It should bother her that she was so attracted to the brunette, and the fact that it didn't filled Quinn with a sense of guilt. Her English blood was showing.

What was Rachel doing here? Other than the odd servant, and Mr. Chumley, there wasn't a person in the room who wasn't family. It was unlikely that brunette was named in the will. Quinn couldn't imagine Finn admitting to being vulnerable enough to want moral support, but as Finn's fiancé, whatever was written in her father's will would affect Rachel's future as well.

The truth be known, Quinn didn't expect to inherit any more than was required by law. As the heir, she would get the title and any houses, land, or money that went with it. She didn't imagine her father would leave her—the child he hadn't wanted—anything else voluntarily.

It was Quinn who looked away first. The scrutiny of Rachel's gaze made her blush and she didn't want the brunette to know what effect she had on her. Quinn didn't want this _English _girl to get under her skin as she did.

Purposefully Quinn seated herself away from the family. Alone, and off to the side, she reminded herself of just how much of an outsider she was. The feeling was uncomfortable to say the least, but she would do well to remember her place. Carole and Brittany had tried to make her feel welcome, a kindness that had touched her deeply, but whether or not she could trust their sentiment would be proven by the outcome of the will.

Carole glanced at her. Inclining her head, she smiled a little and Quinn could almost hear her unspoken question. Why was she sitting so far away? Understanding flickered across the older woman's features and her smile saddened, but she didn't appear hurt by Quinn's decision. She seemed…disappointed.

"If everyone is here, we will begin," Mr. Chumley said, his voice cutting through the hushed conversations humming about the room.

Quinn's gaze caught Rachel's again as the blonde turned toward the tiny solicitor, but she looked away before Quinn could even smile. A coil of unease unwound in her stomach. Rachel wouldn't be a duchess now because of her, and Quinn wondered if Rachel blamed her for it. Or was she just happy to be marrying the man she loved? Quinn found it hard to imagine anyone loving Finn, but, then again, she had yet to see her brother's good side—if he had one.

Quinn barely heard as Mr. Chumley began to read. The words from her father's hand seemed sad and full of regret, not what she had expected to hear at all. Phillip Pierce had always seemed so removed from her life that Quinn was surprised at the pity she felt. Her father hadn't even been fifty when he died—still a young man. He spoke of his wife, his children. And he spoke of Quinn.

"I ask my oldest child, Quinn, whom I have seen but once since leaving Scotland, not to think too harshly of me or to think that I ever forgot her. I have watched over her her entire life, and although she might not believe it, I have always been proud to call her my daughter."

A hard lump lodged in Quinn's throat. She felt the weighty stares upon her and lowered her head to hide the tears burning the backs of her eyes. She didn't want to know her father thought of her. What good did telling her now do? Where had her father been when she needed him?

Quinn let the anger wash the tears away. Her father would have done well to save his pretty words. Nothing could make up for his desertion of Quinn and her mother. Nothing at all.

"As my oldest child and heir, Quinn Fabray inherits the title of Duchess of Brahm and the property of Brahm House in London and Brahm Park in Derbyshire, and the smaller estate of Featherington Keep in Yorkshire. The incomes from both estates equal some one hundred thousand pounds per annum. I also bequeath to Quinn the sum of fifty thousand pounds, the exact amount given to me by her mother, Judith Fabray."

At the mention of her mother's name, Quinn's blood ran cold. Phillip Pierce had destroyed her and no amount of money or power could ever make up for that. But what did he mean, "given" to him by her mother? He had taken the money. Quinn's mother hadn't actually given it to him. Had she?

"I also ask my oldest child that she not hold the sins of her father against her stepmother and her brother and sister and that she look after them as she would if she had grown up with them."

Quinn braved a glance at Finn to catch his reaction. It was the same request he had made—except that their father had included Finn. The younger man was not impressed with his father's words. No doubt at eighteen, Finn believed himself more than capable of looking after himself and the family, as well as being a good spouse. Quinn herself was only four years older and didn't think she could possibly succeed at either task.

Mr. Chumley read through the rest of the will, which entailed money and a dowry for Brittany, a house and money for Carole, property and money for Finn, money for a few favorite and faithful servants—it was fairly standard.

There was also something for Rachel—a small painting that she apparently admired. Quinn's throat tightened when she heard the solicitor mention it. It was a painting of Loch Glenshea. Why had her father kept it all these years? Was it possible Quinn and her mother had meant something to him after all?

"The duke also left letters for some of you," Mr. Chumley said when the reading was finally over. He withdrew two thick folds of vellum from his satchel. He took one letter to Carole. The other he brought to Quinn.

Quinn stared at it as though it was crawling with maggots.

"He labored over this letter to you, Your Grace," Mr. Chumley informed her in that soft tone of his. "He was very hopeful that you would read it."

Slowly, Quinn's hand rose. Numb fingers took the letter from the solicitor's hand. The sheaves of paper trembled like leaves in the wind and Quinn crushed them to her lap so no one else could see how her hand shook. She didn't want it, and she most certainly didn't want to read it, but she would. She would because she wanted so desperately to think that her father cared for her, no matter that life had taught her differently.

A chair crashed to the floor and Quinn jerked her head up to see Finn storm from the room. Quinn leaped from her own chair, and tucking it in her small purse, hurried after her brother. Already she was assuming the role of head of the family.

Quinn wasn't sure what she was going to say. She didn't even know why Finn was so angry. Quinn had been so young when her mother died, she hadn't grieved for her as an adult, and she didn't grieve for her father at all—not in the traditional sense. She hadn't really known either of her parents. All she had were the fuzzy memories of a toddler. She felt loss for what might have been, or should have been, but she had no idea how it felt to lose someone who had been there to watch you grow up.

Finn might have gotten a head start, but Quinn's legs were faster and she caught up to her brother in the empty hallway that led to the servants' stairs.

"What do you want?" Finn demanded as he whirled around in midstomp.

"I thought you might want to talk," Quinn replied lamely. Truth was, she had been so intent on catching Finn that she hadn't given much thought as to what to do with her brother once she caught him.

"Huh," Finn jeered. "And what makes you think I would want to talk to you? _You _are the last person I want to talk to. If it wasn't for you, my life would be what it should have been."

"Meaning you would be the duke now." Quinn's tone was far from sympathetic as she lifted her gaze to the landscape paintings lining the walls. Lord, as much as she resented her father, even she hadn't been waiting for the old man to die!

"_Meaning_, you senseless lumbering oaf, that _I_ would have been my father's oldest child, and that I wouldn't have spent my entire life wondering why he always seemed to be comparing me with some invisible rival."

Quinn's gaze shot back to her brother. "Invisible rival?" What the devil was he talking about?

"_You,"_ Finn sneered as he jabbed his finger in front of Quinn's chest. "Growing up, I could never figure out why I always felt as though I was competing for his affection. When he died, I went through his things to decide what to pack up and what to keep. I found letters. Letters written first by your mother and then by your grandmother telling every stupid little detail of your life."

Stunned, Quinn couldn't speak, couldn't even seem to think. All her life she had believed that her father had left Scotland and never looked back. He had stolen from her mother and left them there practically to starve. Her mother had written to him? Her _grandmother?_

"I-I don't understand."

Tears shimmered in Finn's brown eyes. "He might never have spoken about you, but you were always first in his heart. You took him from me and I will _never_ forgive you for that." With that, he spun on his heel and bolted down the hall, running as though the hounds of hell were at his heels.

Quinn was dumbstruck. She couldn't believe what Finn had just told her. _She_ had been first in their father's heart? How could Finn even think such foolishness? Finn had been the one who had had the benefit of knowing the man. Phillip Pierce hadn't even waited the correct mourning period for his first wife before marrying Carole and starting a family. How could Finn possibly think that Quinn had ever meant anything to their father?

But how could she explain the letters? Letters her own mother and grandmother had written. She could see her mother clinging to some small hope that her father might return, but not her grandmother. Her grandmother would have bothered with him at all unless she had wanted to, or unless she had promised her mother. Yes, that had to be it. She had promised Quinn's mother to write to her father, but it hadn't been because Phillip had wanted to know about her.

So why had he kept the letters?

Oh, this was madness! Throwing her hands up in exasperation, Quinn turned and strode back to the study, resolving not to give the matter another thought.

She had a letter of her own to read.

* * *

The first thing Rachel did when Quinn came back into the room was study her face and then her knuckles. No marks on either. Good. That meant that she and Finn hadn't come to fisticuffs. Not that she believed Quinn or Finn would stoop to such a level under normal circumstances, but emotion made people do desperate things, and she was relieved that whatever was going on between the siblings hadn't escalated to that point.

It didn't mean they hadn't hurt each other, though. Rachel could tell just by looking at Quinn that she was upset. The brunette didn't know the entire situation, but she was smart enough to deduce that as difficult as it was for Quinn to realize that the father she believed had deserted her had been thinking of her, it was perhaps even more so for Finn to grow up thinking he was the heir. Both of them must be very confused and hurt, and their mutual dislike made it all the worse. Of course, from what Rachel had seen, the gulf between the siblings was more of Finn's making than Quinn's. Not that Quinn wasn't capable of being just as churlish from what Rachel had observed.

"Did you speak to him?" she asked, approaching the blonde when she did not join the rest of the family.

Quinn's head snapped up. She had been staring at the unopened letter in her hands. Rachel couldn't help wondering what it said. How did a father explain missing out on his daughter's life?

"Yes," she replied in an absent tone. "We…talked."

"Would you like to talk about it?" She shouldn't get involved and she knew it, but she couldn't stop herself from asking. Rachel didn't know what it was about Quinn that drew her to her, but her concern for the blonde was stronger than any common sense she might possess.

Quinn's expression was dubious at best. The taller girl didn't trust her not to repeat their conversation to Finn. Why should she? Rachel was Finn's fiancé, after all.

"I promise that whatever you tell me will be kept in the strictest of confidence." She touched the blonde's sleeve. "I should like us to be friends."

Quinn stared at her hand so strangely that Rachel could almost feel the weight of her gaze. She was tempted to snatch the offending appendage away and hide it in the folds of her skirt. Instead, she withdrew it slowly, bringing it to her side, as Quinn's gaze followed.

She raised he gaze to Rachel's. The hazel depths were so open and searching that Rachel caught her breath. She had never met someone who needed a friend so badly. And how could she not? In England, Quinn was surrounded by strangers, no matter that the Pierces were her family. Rachel's heart broke for her.

"We cannot talk here," the blonde murmured, her gaze lighting on Carole and Brittany, both of whom watched them from across the room, their expressions worried. Quinn smiled reassuringly at them, as though they had been family for years rather than just a few days.

"Perhaps you would be so good as to escort me and my maid home since Finn is unable," the brunette suggested.

Quinn nodded, her smile fading as she turned to the shorter girl. "Yes, that would be good."

Trying to hide her disappointment at that lost smile, Rachel managed a tight one of her own. "I'll fetch my wrap."

She left Quinn standing there, holding her mysterious letter as she walked across the floor to where Carole and Brittany sat. Taking her light shawl and bonnet from the back of the settee, she bent down to kiss them both on the cheek.

"Her Grace has offered to see me home in Finn's absence," Rachel explained. "I will take my leave of you now, unless you wish me to stay."

Carole shook her head, catching Rachel's hand in her own. "There's no need for you to stay, my dear. I must apologize for Finn's behavior. He has taken his father's death so hard."

The tears in Carole's eyes proved that her son wasn't the only one having a hard time adjusting to life without the late duke.

"I think everyone in the family is having a hard time," Rachel replied meaningfully, squeezing the older woman's fingers.

Carole glanced at Quinn. "Yes," she agreed softly. "I hope they might both learn to forgive Phillip for what he has done."

"I'm sure they will." But Rachel wasn't sure at all if the two siblings could learn to forgive each other.

Sighing, Carole squeezed her hand. "He was a good and loving husband, and that is what I choose to remember about him. Not the secrets he kept from me."

A sad smile curved the older woman's lips as she met Rachel's sympathetic gaze. "I was angry when he finally told me the truth. But it seems like such a waste to be angry now that he's gone. Right now all I can feel is just deeply I miss him."

Rachel's throat was so tight she didn't trust herself to speak. Poor, poor Carole. What was it like to love someone so much that losing them left you feeling so empty that there was no room for anything else?

Releasing Carole's hand, she turned to Brittany. "I'll see you tomorrow night?"

Brittany nodded, smiling. "I look forward to it."

It wasn't entirely proper, as Brittany was in mourning for her father, but the late duke had declared on his deathbed that he didn't want the family running around in black for a year and acting as though they were all dead as well. As a compromise, the family agreed to dress in half mourning, wearing grays and browns and lavenders instead of black. Brittany had avoided balls and parties for the remainder of the London Season, but now that it was over, she had decided to honor her father's wishes and attend a few small gatherings. Tomorrow night was to be the first of such outings. Carole and Finn had even decided to attend, and Rachel and her mother would be there as well.

A footman came and handed her a package wrapped in brown paper.

"It's the painting," Carole told her. "I thought you might like to take it home with you."

Rachel smiled, her eyes hot with tears. She had been touched by the late duke's gift. She had always loved the painting of the dark blue lake surrounded by a riot of colorful trees and mountains.

She said her good-byes and draped her shawl around her shoulders as Quinn came to meet her.

The blonde placed light kisses on Brittany and Carole's cheeks. "I shall take my leave as well."

"You will return later?" There was urgency in Carole's voice. Quinn nodded.

"And you will bring your things?" Again the near-panicked tone.

Quinn's smile was uncomfortable to say the least, but her eyes were warm with emotion. "If you wish."

"We wish," Brittany responded with what sounded like a sigh of relief.

With that settled, Quinn and Rachel left the room and walked down the corridor to the entrance hall where a footman gave Quinn her own shawl. Waving the footman aside, Quinn held the door for both Rachel and her maid, Jane, drawing a blush and a stuttered thank-you from the young maid with the blonde's gallantry.

They were silent until the front door closed behind them and they stepped out into the watery sunshine. It had rained yet again that morning and the sun had yet to dry the shimmering drops from the grass, or chase the puddles away. A cool breeze—the kind that always followed a summer rain—brushed against Rachel's face and she breathed it deep into her lungs, savoring the odor of sweet, damp earth and clean horses.

Drawing her cream-colored cashmere shawl tighter around her so it wouldn't fall, Rachel allowed Quinn to hand her up into the brightly painted open carriage before assisting Jane up as well. The front seat allowed just enough room for them to sit next to each other without being improper, but it also had a seat for Rachel's maid—close enough to them to be proper, but not close enough to hear their conversation.

With a flick of the reins, Quinn started the horses down the drive, their hooves striking the gravel with a lazy rhythm.

"Carole and Brittany seem very attached to you already," Rachel observed when Quinn made no move to speak first.

The blonde didn't look at her, and her loose hair blocked her eyes from view. "Yes. I suspect I remind them both of my father. I confess, the comparison gives me little joy, but I am glad to bring them some pleasure in what has to be a very painful time."

Rachel studied her intently, realizing with a bit of surprise that she was being completely sincere and honest—something she wasn't used to in people of her class. The aristocracy always seemed to hide behind a façade of politeness and say all the proper words and sentiments while often thinking something completely different. Allowing someone to see your true feelings was seen as setting oneself up to be ridiculed.

"You're a good person, Your Grace," Rachel told her, her voice soft.

Quinn didn't look at her, but her cheeks turned pink. "I try to be."

"What a rarity you are." And she meant it.

"I don't think I'm so very rare," the blonde said self-consciously as a footman opened the gate for them. Expertly, she guided the horses and carriage out into the street. "Aren't you a good person? Isn't Finn?"

"Finn is very proper," Rachel replied, watching as other carriages rolled past. She loved the sound the horses' hooves made against the cobblestones. "Sometimes I think people become so obsessed with giving the appearance of being good that they forget what it really means to be a good person."

Quinn looked at her, her expression one of amusement. "I can't imagine you being so caught up in appearances. After all, you gave up the book you wanted to a stranger in a bookshop."

Warmth flooded Rachel's stomach at the thought of their first meeting. "I have never held a door open for a servant," she admitted even though it shamed her.

A grin lit the blonde's features, softening her face and brightening her eyes, which were a clear, vivid green in the sunlight. "You're right. You're an awful person. I can't imagine why Finn is marrying you—your beauty aside."

"Yes," Rachel replied, her tone a mixture of the lightness she wanted to project at Quinn's compliment and the sudden bitterness that engulfed her. "But my mother was beautiful once as well. Finn is taking a great risk by marrying me, especially if I inherit my mother's peerless manner."

Quinn faltered—ever so slightly, but Rachel saw it. The blonde had heard the doubt in her voice, of that Rachel was certain. Truth be told, the brunette probably shouldn't be talking to the other girl about her personal affairs at all. It was unseemly, but she didn't care. It felt good to talk about it.

"He's brave because he adores you," Quinn replied, her gaze fixed on the traffic in front of them.

Rachel wondered if she deliberately substituted "adores" for "loves". There were times when even she didn't know the true depths of Finn's affections. Being a gentleman, mindful of her "maidenly sensibilities," he showed great restraint in expressing his own more passionate emotions.

"I have no doubt that Finn has some affection for me, Your Grace." She stared at the passing perfection of Devonshire House, rather than look at the girl next to her. "We get along fairly well, but sometimes I wonder if Finn is marrying me or my father's business. I have no idea if he adores me as you claim."

"He should."

The sun disappeared behind a cloud as Quinn spoke, adding to the shiver that raced down Rachel's spine. Quinn was right. Finn _should _adore her. He should love her. Just as she should love him.

"Do you doubt your decision to marry him?" Quinn inquired seriously.

Rachel's spine stiffened? Had the blonde read her mind? "That is none of your business, Your Grace."

"Stop calling me that!" Quinn snapped, startling Rachel. "My name is Quinn. If you can't bring yourself to call your future sister-in-law by her Christian name in private, then perhaps you could call me Lady Keir, but for the love of God, don't call me by _his_ title!"

Rachel stared at her, her mouth agape. Anger had made Quinn lose control of the horses, causing them to speed up at an alarming rate. Clinging to the side of the seat with one hand and to her bonnet with the other, Rachel braced herself.

Just as suddenly, the horses slowed again. She glanced at Quinn. Her jaw was still tight, but her shoulders had relaxed somewhat and she once again had the horses under control. She muttered an apology.

"But it is my business," Quinn continued as the brunette also relaxed. "As much as I would hate to see you trapped in a loveless marriage, I would hate even more seeing you love someone who does not love you. My mother loved someone who did not love her, Rachel, and it destroyed her."

Quinn's wounded anger washed over Rachel like a wave upon a stormy ocean. She didn't even care that Quinn was calling her by her first name. "And you still hate him for it, don't you?"

Quinn stared straight ahead. "I hate him for many things, and yet I cannot bring myself to despise him completely. Finn says he always felt like he was being compared with me growing up—an 'invisible rival,' he called me." She made a scoffing sound. "He says I have taken everything away from him. He doesn't understand that I would gladly trade the title for the chance to know my father. _That's_ what I hate—the fact that even though the man left us with nothing, I still wanted—_want_—his approval."

Rachel's heart was breaking. She had wanted the blonde to open up to her, to trust her, but never had she imagined that her pain would run so deep. The fact that Quinn was sharing this with her was an honor she could not take lightly. But neither could she allow herself to read more into it than that Quinn needed a confidante.

It didn't make Rachel special.

"Perhaps once you read his letter you will feel better about things," Rachel suggested quietly.

Quinn shrugged. "Perhaps. Meanwhile, I have to move into a house with two women who want to love me and a young man determined to hate me." She sighed.

Trying to lighten the mood, Rachel quipped, "There are worse fates than having two women determined to love you, I imagine."

"Not if they're the wrong women," Quinn replied with a small smile.

Ignoring the pounding of her heart Quinn's expression inspired, Rachel made another attempt at humor. "According to most men, there are no _right _women. It is just a matter of finding the least wrong and making the best of it."

The blonde took her eyes from the road long enough to look at Rachel in surprise. "Where did you hear such nonsense?"

She blushed. "I overheard two gentlemen talking at a ball one night."

Quinn shook her head and glanced up at the sky. Rachel's gaze followed. It was going to rain again, blast it.

"They were idiots," the blonde told her. "I'm sure Finn thinks you are the right woman, regardless of what you might say, and I'm certain that there are at least a hundred other people out there who would agree."

Rachel laughed, touched by Quinn's insistence, even though she knew different. "I doubt you would be able to find one person in all of London who would take me for a bride without my fortune, Your—Quinn."

The blonde's expression was suddenly very serious. "I'm certain I could find at least one."

The implication of her words was slow to sink in, but it set Rachel's heart pounding harder than it ever had in her life. Something about the way Quinn looked at her made it clear who that one person might be. Whatever this fascination, this feeling was, it was wrong. She was promised to Finn.

"There you go again," Rachel replied, fighting to keep her strangled tone light. "Being kind when you don't need to be."

Quinn didn't respond, but her expression grew shuttered, as though she realized that she had crossed a line.

They drove the rest of the way in silence. It was a fairly long drive, made even longer by the heavy traffic and the awkwardness between them. It began to rain just as the carriage pulled up to the door.

Stepping down, Quinn lifted her hand to Rachel to help her down. Their gazes locked as Rachel hesitantly placed her gloved hand in the blonde's. Even through the layer of fabric between them, Rachel could feel the heat and strength of Quinn's hand. This wasn't the hand of some pampered _ton_ aristocrat. This was the hand of a woman who knew hard work. The realization sent a tremor of awareness through Rachel.

As she jumped to the ground, she miscalculated the distance and ended up landing practically on top of Quinn. Toe to toe, the only thing that kept their bodies from touching was the painting Rachel held tightly to her chest. As it was, her forearm was pressed heavily against the soft yet firm wall of Quinn's chest.

She stared at Quinn. Quinn stared her.

"Do you mind if I run inside, Miss Berry?"

The spell was broken. Turning to her maid, Rachel shook her head. "Go ahead, Jane."

The maid left them there, bobbing a quick curtsy to them both before running for the servants' entrance around the back.

"I should go in as well," Rachel murmured, trying vainly to break free of the blonde's mesmerizing gaze. What the devil was wrong with her? Rachel had never reacted this way to anyone in her life.

She tugged her hand free of Quinn's.

"I meant what I said," Quinn spoke as Rachel finally found the strength to turn away. "There are many people out there who would count themselves lucky to have someone like you."

Heat fill Rachel's cheeks, making the rain seem all the more chilly as the first drops struck her face.

"Thank you." She raised her gaze and there was that blunt trusting honesty of Quinn's again.

"But I sincerely doubt that any of them would deserve you. Not even _one._"

And with that the blonde climbed back onto her seat and easily steered the horses back down the lane as the rain began to fall in earnest.

Rachel stood on the steps and watched the carriage pull away. She barely felt the rain as it ran down her face, soaking through her shawl and gown. Not until the carriage and its driver were lost from sight did she realize she was standing in the rain like an idiot.

A guilty, tingly idiot who had no right to take such pleasure in the inappropriate remarks of a young woman who would someday be her sister-in-law.

* * *

**A/N: Ooooo, looky who's subtly (or, not-so-subtly) telling Rachel that there are much better things out there than nasty Finn! ;) But...Did Quinn mean it? And will Quinn act on it any further? How is Rachel going to handle all the warm and gooey feelings Quinn evokes in her? We shall see in the next chapter! :D**

**Oh! And, don't forget to set your clocks ahead an hour Saturday night/Sunday morning for Daylight Savings! :D **

**I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, and I'll be back with chapter 5 in a couple weeks! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Greetings, everyone! :)**

**Sorry this is a few days late. I got back from my awesome Spring Break and came down with a serious cold. It could not have come at a worse time, and I was like, "Ain't nobody got time for that!" lol. So, sorry guys. I just wasn't feeling up to writing a new chapter last week. But at least you didn't have to wait a whole extra week for an update! :)**

**Anywho, anonymous reviews!**

_**jock - **_**Happy belated birth****day! I hope it was a good one :) Thanks so much for your review. I'm really glad you liked last chapter and the Faberry interaction :D There's more of that in this chapter, too, so I hope you like it! :) You're right on about F****inn, too. It's like, you**_** kind of **_**want to feel sorry for him because he is grieving and s****uch, but he's focusing on all the wrong things, so you can't really. Quinn is the one who was gypped here, not Finn so much. And don't worry. It will take some time, but Finn will definitely be getting his comeuppance ;) Thanks again for the review, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

_**anon - **_**Thank you for the review! I'm glad (and sorry) that you can relate to ****what Quinn is feeling right now :) The contents of the letter will be revealed shortly :) Hahaha, definitely. Quinn just can't help herself where Rachel is concerned, and the same thing for Rachel :) Lol, yeah, I'm also glad this Rachel isn't blind to Finn's shortcomings as a human being ;) Thanks! I had a great Spring Break, and I definitely didn't want to go home afterward :) Thank you again for the review, and I hope you like this chapter :D**

_**Dude - **_**Thanks for the review! I'm glad you like this story so far :) And haha, don't worry, I'm not Ryan Murphy. Finn _will_ answer for his behavior. Just have to be patient hehe ;) Thanks again and I hope you like the rest of the story! :)  
**

**That's all I have for now. Happy reading! :D**

* * *

She was insane.

That was the only way Quinn could describe her behavior toward Rachel. Obviously she was out of her mind because that would be the only reason—the _only_ reason—she would tell her brother's fiancé that she found her attractive.

It didn't matter that Quinn thought Rachel to be the most beautiful girl she had ever seen. It didn't matter that the brunette's kindness had touched her deep inside. Quinn shouldn't allow herself to become infatuated with her. It would lead only to heartache—and deepen the gulf between Finn and her.

The blonde didn't know if she and Finn could ever truly be siblings, but she didn't want to give her younger brother any more reason to dislike her—or add Rachel to the list of things she had "stolen" from him.

_If _Rachel wanted to be stolen, that was, and she had given Quinn no indication that she was the least bit attracted to her. Of course, Rachel hadn't given Quinn any indication that she was attracted to Finn either.

Regardless, it was still Finn's ring she wore on her finger and that was what mattered. Quinn had no business feeling the way she did when the shorter girl was around. She was going to have to get a grip on her emotions.

"More tea, Your Grace?"

Quinn's head snapped up. She had forgotten that she was at White's Café and not her rooms back home in Scotland.

"Please," she responded. Quinn had decided to see more of London, and she ended up at the only café in the city that serviced exclusively to women ranking in the upper echelons of London society. She had no issue being in the company of people of lower standing, but she was certain her presence would draw much attention, which she was desperate to avoid. She looked enough like the late duke, and she had been the subject of enough gossip and speculation, that anyone with eyes and ears would know who she was.

And everywhere she went, people seemed to know who Quinn was. London was a big city—much bigger than she had thought that first day when she told Rachel that they would meet again. It was only the social circle that was small, but that hadn't prevented every tradesman, every shopkeeper, from knowing who the blonde was. Quinn couldn't even cross the street without some acquaintance of her father's flagging her down.

Thoughts of her father reminded her of the letter in her coat pocket. She was terrified to read it, especially in public, but now that her belongings from the inn had been packed and sent to Brahm House, she had little choice. She couldn't read it at the house with all the servants and family there gauging her reaction, and being public place would force her to keep her emotions in check, for which she was much appreciative.

The wax seal on the letter was black, and Quinn could just barely make out the outline of a falcon in flight pressed within it. It had been her father's seal and now it was hers. Her life had been so drastically changed since learning of her father's death. It all still seemed so unreal.

With trembling fingers, Quinn broke the seal and unfolded the thick sheaf of paper. The handwriting was firm but shaky, indicating her father had been unwell when he wrote it. The date at the top revealed that it had been written the day before Philip Pierce had died.

_My dear daughter—_

_How strange it seems to call you that after all these years, and how strange it must be for you to read it, but you are and always have been dear to me. That you are reading this letter means that I am dead, and I am sorry that I never had the strength or the chance to tell you the contents of this letter in person. I have missed out on so much of your life, been denied many of the joys of fatherhood, and yet I cannot blame anyone but myself._

"You've got that right," Quinn muttered, her tone less bitter than she had hoped. She raised her cup to her lips and drank. The tea was hot and weak, but it relieved the dryness in her throat and gave her a moment to combat the mixture of hope and anger mingling in her stomach. She must try to keep calm until she had read the entire letter.

Her father had obviously felt he owed her an explanation and Quinn would listen. She didn't know how much of it she would like or accept, but this trip to London had made the blonde realize that there was more to what happened between her parents than what she had perceived as a child. Perhaps that was why her grandmother had insisted that she come—to finally learn the truth. Quinn and her father both owed each other that.

_I know I've no right to ask anything of you, but I beg you to look after Carole and the children for me. Finn and Brittany aren't that much younger than you, but they have been sheltered and spoiled their entire lives. You, on the other hand, I fear have not been sheltered and spoiled enough. For that, I am mostly to blame, but only because your mother insisted I take the money when I left._

Quinn's heart froze against her ribs. Her mother had _given _him the money? She had _insisted_ that he take it? But that made no sense. Why would her mother do such a thing? Why would she let her husband leave her and give him money to do so? Why would she purposefully relegate herself, her child, and her people to borderline poverty while her husband made merry in another country?

_I'll wager you never knew she gave me that money. I bet you thought I had stolen not only your mother's heart, but her fortune as well. Well, she gave me that money as freely as she gave me her proud and wild heart, and all I had to offer her was my absence and gratitude. When I inherited the dukedom, it was drowning in debt. I knew I could turn it around, make it profitable again if I could pay off the former duke's—my uncle's—bills. Your mother gave me the money and told me to go fulfill my destiny._

Quinn could scarce believe it. Her mother hadn't just given her husband her fortune, but she had practically packed his trunk for him as well! Why? If she had truly loved Philip that much, how could she just let him go?

_How I loathed leaving you. You were my strong little wildflower, still unsteady on your feet but already showing signs of living up to your warrior heritage. There wasn't an English bone in your body except that you looked so much like me, and if the sketch your grandmother sent me last year is a valid likeness, then I'm pleased to see your looks haven't changed. Although you looked like me, your heart and soul were Scottish, and I couldn't take you away from that—even if your mother hadn't been so determined to keep you with her. I was angry, of course, that neither of you would be coming to England with me, but I soon realized that neither of you would have survived here. Society would have crushed your mother's spirit, would have gossiped behind her back, and you would have become one of those pale, withdrawn children beaten and tormented by others instead of the proud, beautiful young lady you are now. No, your mother was right in staying behind, but in my heart, I'll always wish she had come with me, for then we might have had more time together. As it was she hid her illness from me, never asking me to return, never allowing herself to be selfish. You may never forgive me for leaving you, Quinn, and I understand that, for I will never forgive Judith for leaving me._

Something inside Quinn screamed in protest, insisting that her father had been to blame, that everything—her mother's death, Quinn's own unhappiness—was all Philip Pierce's fault, but Quinn couldn't believe it anymore. She didn't understand why her mother had acted as she had. She supposed that her mother saw it as a great act of love, letting her husband go off to fulfill his destiny while she wasted away, but Quinn saw it as a great act of foolishness. She should have gone after Philip. He should have come back. But who was she to judge the actions of two people twenty years in the past?

But Quinn couldn't help being angry. Because of her mother's pride and her father's willingness to put up with it, she had never known her father and had barely known her mother. Quinn was so young when she died, she only had fuzzy memories of her mother, and even then she had been ill. Perhaps neither one of them had ever meant to hurt Quinn or each other, but it didn't change the fact that they had sacrificed their happiness just so her father could save the title.

As though that could ever compare with what they had lost.

And now the title was hers. It was a title she had despised only days before, but now she felt a certain kinship with it. Quinn had always known she would inherit her mother's family's title, there was nothing new in that, but her father's title was different. Her mother and father had both sacrificed so much—Quinn had been denied so much—so that her father could have the dukedom that it was only right it should go to Quinn now. It was hers by more right just birth. Everything in her life had led to this moment, to her becoming the Duchess of Brahm. And even as tears burned the backs of her eyes and tightened her throat, her heart swelled with fierce pride and love for those two foolish young people who had given so much for her to have such a legacy.

It was also so very difficult not to be angry at them both. Their pride had cost them so much. It had cost Quinn so much. How could she not harbor some resentment? Had no one given any thought to how this would affect her? She grew up not knowing her parents, and her grandmother had kept everything a secret from her, no doubt believing it to be for the best.

None of them had the right to decide her life like that. If she had known what had happened between her parents, Quinn might have had the opportunity to go to England, to know her father. But she had never been given the chance.

Blast it, someone should have told her.

She went back to the letter.

_I had no idea how ill your mother was. Your grandmother wrote to me in London and I returned as fast as I could, riding nonstop, but I was too late. She was gone when I arrived. My heart was broken, I was numb with grief, and there you were, not quite understanding what was going on and you didn't even remember who I was at first. You cried when I tried to hold you, weeping for your mother with such heart-wrenching grief that it nearly killed me to hear it. Your grandmother was the only one who could soothe you, and I knew then that I had been gone too long and there was no place for me in your life. I had wanted to take you back to London with me, but that was impossible, so I left you with your grandmother and returned to London. I threw myself into work and society. Told myself I didn't care, that your mother hadn't truly loved me. Oh, Quinn, I was such a bitter man. I blamed myself for your mother's death, told myself she would have lived if I had only done one of several hundred things differently. I was so angry at both Judith and myself. I married Carole as punishment—who I was trying to punish, I'm no longer certain. I swore never to let my heart rule me again. But Carole was too sweet, too good, and she healed my wounds. I couldn't bring myself to tell her about you or your mother, not when Carole had given me so much. I couldn't tell her she had been a replacement for your mother, especially since I had come to love her so very much._

_When Finn was born, it made me think of you and how much your birth meant to me. I started writing to your grandmother. I don't know why I was so scared to see you or why I wanted to keep you my little secret. I can only beg for you to forgive me as Carole has. My foolishness cost me not only your mother, but you as well, and I know how angry and bitter you must have felt toward me all these years. I have no doubt many of your villagers have painted me as the worst sort of villain. And no doubt, your fine grandmother let you draw your own conclusions. I'll wager she's sitting in Scotland right now, wondering if your heart has softened toward me, speculating your feelings, knowing that your coming to London will be what finally takes you from girl to woman._

Quinn chuckled at this. She couldn't stay angry at her grandmother for never telling her about her father. Lilian Fabray was a firm believer in every person choosing their own destiny, in making up their own mind, right or wrong. No doubt Quinn wouldn't have believed her even if she had told her that her father still cared, and no doubt she would have found a way to get a letter to the old man, and Lord only knew what awful things she might have said. Her grandmother had hidden things from her, but Quinn couldn't say that she had been entirely wrong to do so.

_Know this, my dear, dear girl, that no matter what you think of me now, I hope one day you are as proud of your child as I am of you. You are as dear to me now as you were the first time I ever held you in my arms. I only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for being a foolish, stupid man._

_All my love,_

_your father,_

_Philip Pierce, Duke of Brahm_

A tear slid down Quinn's cheek and she swiped at it with her sleeve before anyone could see it. She was already at the center of too much London gossip, she didn't want to fuel any more fires.

"Will there be anything else, Your Grace?" the waiter asked as he approached.

Not daring to look up for fear the man would see the dampness clinging to her eyelashes, Quinn stuffed the letter back into her purse and shook her head. "No, that will be all, thank you."

She swallowed the last mouthful of cold tea in her cut and left. Outside, the air was damp and Quinn was glad for the excuse to tuck her head down and wrap her shawl higher and tighter around herself. She didn't want to be recognized—didn't want any attention at all. She needed to be alone with her thoughts. And what thoughts!

Quinn couldn't believe that she had been so wrong about her father. She didn't even know whether or not she could assume the letter was the truth, but her grandmother would be able to verify its validity. If her father was being truthful, her grandmother may very well have kept things from her, but she wouldn't hesitate to tell the truth if asked, Quinn was certain of it.

Quinn walked the rest of the way back to Brahm House, her mind on her father and how this letter changed everything she had ever believed. It changed her relationship with Carole and Brittany and Finn.

And it had to change how she felt about Rachel. Quinn had already taken enough from her brother.

* * *

"It really is a disgrace."

Rachel tore her gaze away from Quinn as she danced with yet another giggling debutante and turned her attention to the woman on her right.

"What is a disgrace, Mama?"

Shelby thrust her chin in the direction of the dance floor. "That _person_ trying to pass herself off as the Duchess of Brahm."

Rachel didn't look. She didn't want to see that foolish girl smiling up at Quinn as though she hung the moon in the sky. And she certainly didn't want to see the blonde smile back, just as she had smiled at every person, male and female, who threw themselves into her path that evening. It was really quite disgusting. Rachel was embarrassed for her, that's all it was. She certainly wasn't jealous.

Not at all.

Why should she care whom Quinn danced with? Rachel had danced twice with Finn and with several other handsome gentlemen. And she was certainly more graceful than Suzanne Markby. Poor Quinn's toes must be positively bruised from the foolish girl tramping all over them.

"She's not trying to pass herself off, Mama," she replied with some exasperation. "She _is_ the duchess."

Shelby smiled. It was a cat-who-ate-the-canary smile and it made Rachel nervous. Her mother was up to something.

"Mama," Rachel said in a warning tone, "what are you up to?"

"Pooh, child. Why must you think the worst of me?"

"Begging pardon, Mama, but you normally deserve it." She lowered her voice. "I certainly hope you're not still questioning the duchess' birth. I think her father's will quite proves she is legitimate."

Her mother faced her with a slow, narrow-eyed smile. "My dear gel, it's not a question of whether or not she is legitimate."

Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. "Well that's—"

"It's whether or not she can _prove_ it." Snapping open her fan, Shelby waved the delicate silk-covered sticks in front of her face with all the grace of a cow elephant.

The urge to bury her face in her hands and scream proved to be almost too much for Rachel, but she managed to keep herself under control.

"Why should it matter to you whether she is legitimate or not? She is nothing to you."

"Don't be stupid!" Shelby shot her a sharp glance. "It decides whether my daughter is the Duchess of Brahm or just plain Mrs. Pierce."

"It shouldn't matter if I'm either. It should only matter that I'm happy."

In an instant, Rachel's mother went from scowl to a deceptively sweet smile. "Are you saying you wouldn't be happy to be a duchess?"

"Not at the duchess' expense, no," Rachel replied truthfully. Of course she had dreamed of marrying a rich and attractive person. Didn't every young girl? But the older she became, the more she realized that love was more important than any title. She would rather marry someone poor who loved her than the richest person in all of England.

And that was why she was having these doubts about Finn. She didn't know how he felt about her.

She didn't know how she felt about _him_.

"What about poor Finn?" her mother demanded as though reading her thoughts. "Don't you care that this…this _imposter_ has stolen his birthright from him?"

"Of course I care about Finn." Rachel sighed. "I think it was very wrong of his father to hide the duchess' existence from his family, but it cannot be changed. She cannot be erased and Finn cannot claim the title."

Again that secretive smile. "He can if his sister cannot prove that she was born within the laws of wedlock."

"Oh, you're impossible! I refuse to listen to any more of this nonsense!" Jumping to her feet, Rachel planned to get as far away from her mother as she possibly could.

"You're not leaving, I hope, Miss Berry?"

Mortified, Rachel met Quinn's amused gaze. Her stomach lurched at the sight of the blonde. Lord, but she hoped Quinn hadn't heard any of her conversation with her mother!

"Actually, I was just on my way to get some…uh…lemonade."

"I would be honored to fetch a glass for you."

Rachel shot her a look of pure panic. She must have made quite an impression because the blonde's hazel eyes sparkled with humor and her lips twitched as though she was trying to keep from smiling.

"Or perhaps I could escort you to the refreshment table?"

Rachel almost sagged in relief. Finally, she could escape her mother. Of course, good manners required she take her leave of her infuriating parent.

"Do you mind, Mama?"

Tight-lipped, Shelby shook her head, sending the feathers in her elaborate hairstyle bobbing in all directions. "Do not be long." She cast a hard look at Quinn. "Good evening, Your Grace."

She gave a slight curtsy. "Charmed as always, madam." If she was being sarcastic, Rachel couldn't tell. Straightening, Quinn offered the shorter girl her arm.

Her fingers were stiff from having been clenched into fists during her conversation with her mother, but Rachel laid them lightly on the blonde's arm and allowed her to lead the way across the floor to the refreshment room. Hopefully Quinn would never notice the warm dampness of her palm through the fabric of her gloves. What was this strange effect the taller girl had on her? Just being this close to Quinn made her oddly dizzy.

Rachel stood by the wall and waited while Quinn went for drinks. It was so much quieter in there than the ballroom, but then, they could run a herd of buffalo through the room and Rachel would still find it quiet without her mother's presence.

"Here you are." Quinn offered her a glass.

"Thank you." As she took it, their fingers brushed and even though they were both wearing gloves, a shock ran through Rachel's body. She jumped.

Quinn didn't seem to notice her bizarre behavior and for that Rachel was thankful. Surely she could at least pretend that she was unaffected by her.

Taking a sip of her lemonade, Rachel resolved to do just that—act normally. As the cool drink hit the back of her parched throat, she closed her eyes in pleasure at the tart sweetness. It was good—much better than the weak dishwater they called lemonade at Almack's.

"I don't believe I've told you how lovely you look this evening," Quinn remarked softly.

Rachel looked away, blushing under Quinn's scrutiny. The way the other girl was looking at her made her feel warm and breathless, as though Rachel had suddenly entered a very hot room.

She had taken extra pains with her appearance that night. She had chosen a simple, short-sleeved gown of rose silk with matching gloves and slippers. The high waist emphasized her bosom and the dusky color complemented her dark coloring. Her hair was gathered up on the crown of her head to fall in a mass of ringlets down her back. Her only jewelry was a strand of pearls around her neck and matching ear bobs.

Rachel had tried to convince herself that her desire to look nice had nothing to do with the fact that Quinn would be there, but she couldn't deny that she had wanted the other girl to see her at her best. Surely there was no harm in that, was there? It didn't mean anything—except to make her one of the vainest girls in all of London.

"Thank you," she replied, raising her gaze to Quinn's. "You look very beautiful as well."

And did she ever. She wore an elegant, evening gown with plain sleeves that framed her shoulders. Some women preferred gowns with added, protruding floral decorations, but Quinn's dress was simply a smooth, deep green that flowed across her body most becomingly and brought out the small green flecks in her bright eyes. Besides a pair of her own matching gloves, the only extra adornment that Rachel could see was a simple chain necklace with a single cross pendant lying just above her bosom. As always, she wore her blonde hair mostly loose, with half of it tied up, falling around her shoulders, some curls added in with the natural wave to her thick tresses. Rachel thought that the Empress Josephine couldn't have looked more beautiful.

"And I must thank you for coming to my rescue," Rachel added, hoping that Quinn didn't notice how breathless she sounded.

The blonde grinned. "Is that what it was? I must admit I had no idea I was performing such a service. You're most welcome."

She didn't pry, didn't ask why Rachel should need rescuing from her own mother, for which the brunette was grateful. She couldn't tell Quinn the truth and she didn't want to lie, so avoiding the subject altogether seemed the best course of action.

"Yes, but this lemonade won't last forever and then I must return." With a resigned sigh, Rachel raised her glass.

"There's no hurry," Quinn assured her. "Finish your drink and then we will dance."

She raised a brow. "Dance?"

Quinn smiled. "It's when you move your feet in various steps set to music. Surely you've done it before?"

Laughing at her teasing, Rachel nodded. "Once or twice, yes."

"Good. Then finish your lemonade and we'll dance and then we'll find something else to do so you won't have to face your mother until you're ready."

Rachel couldn't believe her ears. "You don't have to do that, Your Grace. I don't want you to feel responsible for me."

"I don't," the blonde replied bluntly. "But since Finn's off somewhere discussing business, I'll stand in his stead. And my name's Quinn, remember?"

Rachel felt an odd sense of disappointment at her words but smiled anyway. "Yes, I remember."

Quinn nodded at Rachel's cup. "Then drink up and we'll dance." As if to hurry her along, the blonde drained her glass in one gulp and gazed expectantly at Rachel.

"I can't drink that fast."

"Sure you can."

"No, I can't."

"Why?"

Smiling, Rachel shook her head. "Because it's not ladylike, that's why."

The glint in Quinn's eyes was teasing. "Do you always have to be a lady?"

How could she even ask such a thing? No young English lady would even think of such a question—she would already know the answer.

"Yes," she replied. "I do."

Sighing in exaggerated aggravation, Quinn plucked the glass from Rachel's hand, drained its contents, and set it and her own on the tray of a passing footman.

"There. Now we can dance."

Speechless, Rachel was caught somewhere between indignation and delight. "I can't believe you did that."

Leading her into the ballroom by the hand, Quinn smiled wickedly. "Neither can I."

"You had better be a good dancer," Rachel warned with good humor. "That lemonade was the best I have tasted in quite some time."

"I am an accomplished dancer. I would not have denied your refreshment if I did not think it worth your while."

Quinn was acting a fool, but her antics made Rachel happier than she had been in months. It wasn't until the music started up that her good mood faded.

"This is a waltz." Glancing around at the other guests, Rachel didn't know what to do. She had been given permission to waltz during her first Season, but she had danced it only with Finn. It was considered a scandalous dance because it required the partners to hold each other so close.

The idea of being that close to Quinn frightened her.

Quinn placed a hand on the small of her back. "So it is."

Her heart sped up at the blonde's soft touch. "Are you sure we should dance? Is it proper?"

Quinn must have heard the edge to her voice, because her smiled turned from one of joviality to warmth in seconds. "Rachel, we are soon to be related. As head of your fiancé's family, I don't think anyone will think it scandalous that we share one waltz."

When she put it that way, she made Rachel's reservations sound perfectly silly. Rachel acquiesced, and the two began to dance. It was just that society needed so little evidence to base a rumor on. She would not want anyone in her family or Finn's to be harmed because she and Quinn were having fun.

Finn. Her good spirits dipped even more. He should be the one she laughed and joked with. He should be the one waltzing with her. Instead, he had left her with her mother over an hour ago to go talk business with some "associates." He didn't even tell her what the business was.

"You shouldn't frown like that."

Quinn's voice jerked her back to the present. Suddenly, Rachel was very conscious of the warmth of Quinn's hand through her gown and the long fingers wrapped around her own. Rachel's hand fit so perfectly with hers. She felt so safe and strong next to the blonde. Rachel also enjoyed the fact that she didn't have to crane her neck uncomfortably to look into Quinn's eyes, unlike with Finn.

"Was I frowning? I beg your pardon."

Her hazel eyes were shining with concern. "Are you not enjoying the dance? We can stop…"

Rachel shook her head quickly. "No. You're a wonderful dancer, but then you already knew that. I'm just feeling a little jilted."

Quinn nodded in understanding. Rachel didn't want her to understand. She didn't want the blonde to realize that she was behaving as her fiancé should. Finn should be the one dancing with her. Finn should be the one sending shivers down her spine just by touching her. It certainly shouldn't be Finn's sister making her feel things she had never felt before.

"I'm sure Finn would rather be here dancing with you."

Rachel shrugged. Quinn didn't sound like she believed that any more than Rachel did.

Their dancing had taken them over by the balcony doors, and with a few expert twirls, Quinn had them outside in the cool night air, where the air smelled of flowers rather than sweat and perfume, and the music and voices were low and muted rather than in competition to be heard.

"We shouldn't be out here," Rachel protested. If anyone saw them, there would be a scandal.

"We'll stay in the light. We are perfectly visible from the ballroom," Quinn replied reassuringly.

Rachel doubted that. From where she stood, she could see the dancers as they twirled and dipped inside, but the light from the chandeliers made it almost impossible for anyone to see out into the darkness. She and Quinn were in plain sight, yet completely invisible.

Quinn stood before her, so poised and beautiful with just herself to compare the blonde with. Instinctively Rachel took a step back from her. Young women had been socially ruined by less than being alone in the dark with someone else. If anyone did find them, Rachel wanted there to be plenty of distance between them. It didn't matter that they weren't doing anything wrong. Society would still gossip, and Rachel did not want to be involved in a scandal with her fiancé's sister.

"If we're caught out here, they will say I tried to trap you into marriage. They will think I want you because you have the title now. They will say I planned to jilt Finn for you now that he won't inherit." With each assumption her voice grew in panic and pitch, because she didn't know if she would really mind the scandal.

Quinn's expression was a mixture of concern and amusement. "Are you?"

Rachel scowled. "Am I what?" Of course she could treat the whole situation as a joke. She was going back to Scotland soon. It's not like she would care if her reputation were ruined!

"Are you planning on jilting Finn for me?"

Her cheeks flamed. "Of course not!" But she couldn't say for certain that she was telling the truth. Oh! It was wrong of her even to think such a thing.

A sympathetic smiled curved Quinn's lips. "I know, and so does Finn. Honestly, Rachel, you're safe with me. Please, relax. I just have something I want to say to you and then you can go back inside before your mother misses you."

Rachel's heart sped up. "What do you want to tell me?"

"I'm sorry."

Her stomach fell. She wasn't sure what she had hoped to hear, but that wasn't it. Cursing herself for being such an idiot, Rachel frowned again. "For what?"

Quinn stared at her feet for a few seconds before raising her gaze to Rachel's own. "I know Finn resents me for inheriting the title," she said softly. "I know I ruined a great many of his plans, and I assume I probably ruined a few of yours as well. I have tried to apologize to him, but I don't know if he believed me. And now I want to apologize to you as well."

Rachel shook her head. "You want to apologize for ruining my plans? What plans?"

Clearing her throat, Quinn straightened her shoulders like a soldier being confronted by a superior officer. "I imagine you were looking forward to becoming a duchess and having the kind of life that entails. I'm sorry that my existence denies you that life."

A spark of anger flared low in Rachel's chest. "So, you're sorry I won't be a duchess?"

Quinn nodded. "Yes."

Hands on her hips, Rachel moved toward her, no longer caring if anyone found them out there alone or not. "Do you think the only reason I accepted Finn's proposal is so I would be a duchess?"

"Isn't it?"

"No!" She was close enough now that she could poke Quinn in the chest with her finger, but she didn't dare touch the blonde—not when she felt like punching her. "I can't believe you would think so ill of me."

"I don't." Quinn's voice was void of emotion. "But having a duchess for a daughter would make your mother very happy, wouldn't it?"

There was no point denying it. Rachel didn't care to defend her mother. She was too busy defending herself.

"Yes, it would make her very happy, but that's not why I'm marrying Finn," Rachel retorted.

"No? Why are you marrying Finn then?" the blonde demanded, folding her arms across her chest.

Rachel opened her mouth but nothing came out. She couldn't think of a single reason.

"Do you love him?"

Shock jolted Rachel like a bolt of lightning. "How I feel for Finn is none of your business!"

Quinn's expression went grim. "If you don't love my brother, then you shouldn't marry him."

Oh, that was it! "How dare you! What do you know of it? You wouldn't know love if it hit you on that thick head of yours!"

A muscled ticked in Quinn's jaw. "I think I know a bit more about it than you do."

Rachel snorted—a definitely unladylike sound. "Oh, do you? And what do you know?"

Quinn stepped closer, her face just as angry-looking as Rachel felt, but she wasn't terrified of the taller girl, not in the least.

"I know that Byron was right. I know that love should inspire passion and poetry," Quinn said heatedly.

Rachel shivered as Quinn leaned even closer, and it wasn't because of the breeze that whispered against the back of her neck. It wasn't right for them to be out here. She shouldn't be listening to his fiancé's sister talk about passion; it wasn't proper.

"Does Finn make you think of poetry, Rachel?"

Rachel sputtered in rage—not because Quinn was wrong, but because she was right! She was oh so right! Finn didn't make her think of passion or poetry, and the brunette was too ashamed to admit that to the one person who _did _make her tremble whenever she was near.

"You don't know anything!" Rachel was dangerously close to losing what little control she had left over her emotions. If she didn't get away from the blonde soon, Rachel would hit her, or burst into tears. She couldn't decide which was worse.

Tears. Tears would be worse.

Quinn's hands cupped her face. She tried to jerk away, but the blonde refused to let go, and held her so that she had no choice but to meet the blonde's gaze.

"But I _do_ know, Rachel," Quinn told her, her voice suddenly little more than a whisper. "I know because 'all that's best of dark and bright' meet in _your _aspect and _your _eyes."

Rachel stared at her, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. How could Quinn tell her these things? How could Quinn quote Byron and make her feel so beautiful when she was supposed to marry the blonde's brother? And yet, at the same time, Rachel's heart thrilled at her words, because she had always dreamed that someone would feel that way about her—someone she could feel that way about in return.

Tentatively, the brunette reached up and placed her palm over Quinn's heart, and spoke the first line of the poem that came to mind. "'A heart whose love is innocent.'"

And then Quinn's lips were on hers and Quinn was too surprised to think of anything, let alone poetry. Warm and soft, the blonde's mouth moved against hers as though they were always meant to, making Rachel tense and tremble all at once. Finn's kisses had never been like this!

"We can't do this," Quinn groaned, pulling away after a breathless moment. Dazed and disappointed that she had stopped, Rachel could only stare at the other girl as she backed toward the balcony doors. Quinn's face was white in the pale moonlight and her guilty expression did more to break Rachel's heart than words ever could. She supposed she should feel guilty too for kissing her fiancé's sister, but she just couldn't.

"Quinn, wait!"

Pausing by the door, Quinn couldn't even look her in the eye. "I'm so sorry, Rachel."

"I'm not," she responded. And she wasn't.

But Quinn was already gone.

* * *

**A/N: Ooooo, a Faberry kiss! But...a not-so-stellar ending to the kiss. Hmmmm...I wonder how Quinn is going to handle this? And for that matter, what about Rachel, now that she's had a taste of Quinn? And did anyone see them on the balcony? Find out next time! :)  
**

***Important Note* As far as I know (and I'm no expert on British history), a cafe like the one Quinn went to did not exist in 1818. I made it up. I needed some place for Quinn to go to read the letter, but all of my Google searches for places that upper class women could hang out at were fruitless. So...I made it up. I know that cafes at this time were relegated to the lower classes, or like, authors and philosphers and such. Upper class women, such as Quinn, would not have frequented these places and spent pretty much all of their time at home. If she were a man, I would have had her go to her father's gentleman's club, but alas she is a female. So, I'm really sorry to anyone who was like, "This would _never _have happened in real life," but this little twist in reality just couldn't be avoided this time. I do hope you can forgive me. :) If it turns out that cafes such as this _did _in fact exist, then please ignore this note hehe. :)  
**

**I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I'll be back with chapter 6 as soon as I can! Bye :D**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Greetings, everyone!**

**So sorry for the delay, guys. But, you know...life. lol. Anyway, I hope some of you are still reading! ;)**

**Anonymous reviews! :)**

_**Guest -**_** Thanks! :D So glad you're liking the story so far :) As for your question...Not in this story, no, but in the "sequel"? TONS. hehehe ;) Totally agree about the fact that there can't be a Brittany without Santana and vice versa lol ;) Just have to be patient a while longer :) Anywho, thanks again, and I hope you like this chapter! :)**

_**anon -**_** Thanks for the review! I'm so glad you liked the chapter and that the letter part was adequate! :) It's definitely changed things for Quinn. It's like everything she thought she knew was wrong, and now she has to deal with that. :) Hehe, I'm glad you like Shelby as the other villain (totally right about Finn lol). I actually really don't like her _at all_ on the show. I don't like how her character is written (_such _a shocker for the writing on the show, I know lol), and I didn't like how she treated both Rachel (when she first found her mom) and Quinn (when she was clearly going through a tough time and Shelby told her she couldn't see her daughter. Not. Cool. lol), so...She's on my "fictional character shit list" hehe ;) Anyway, thanks again for the review and I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)**

_**t -**_** Thanks! I'm glad that the chapter hit the intended emotional buttons! :D As for your question, one of the two things will be happening, but not in this story ;) hehehe. Thanks again and I hope you like the chapter!**

_**jock -**_** Thanks for the review! I'm so glad you liked the chapter :) Yeah, this Quinn cannot control herself around Rachel, instead of the hyper-controlled Quinn we see (or used to. I haven't watched season 4 lol) on the show ;) Anywho...thanks again, and I hope you like this chapter! :)**

_**anon - **_**Haha, I know exactly what you're talking about! It happens sooo much, and it's always with my favorite stories (not that this is one of your favorites or anything. I'm just saying lol), where I get all kinds of excited when I get a notification of an update, only to see it's like 100 words, and I get this feeling of dread, like, "Oh, crap. They're not going to write any more of this story..." And most of the time my dread is right lol! Anywho...I'm glad that I didn't disappoint you! :D I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D**

_**Emmy -**_** Hello. I suppose I should thank you for your "constructive bashing" of my _author's note_. If you don't mind, I would like to offer some constructive criticism myself. First of all, do you know me? In real life. Do you know what kind of person I am? No? Didn't think so. Because, if you did, you would know that I would _never_ "brag" about my incredibly ridiculous work load. It's not that impressive. I mean, come on. _Three_ pages? We had to write longer papers than that in middle school. Even five pages is pretty much nothing. Thirteen pages isn't much either. Not with my major, where most of the papers are about 20 pages in length (_not _bragging. Just stating a _fact_.). The 53-page Master's paper was the hugest pain in my ass, you have no idea. I'm _not_ proud of it. I did it because I had to. I could care _less _about it. And you would know that if you actually knew me or even asked anyone I know in real life why I was "bragging" about that paper. I only stated the page lengths and numbers of papers because 1) it's an author's note and I can write whatever the hell I want in it, 2) I am an extremely verbose perfectionist, so I tend to give more details than what may be perceived to be "necessary" (it's a personality 'flaw' that I have come to embrace), and 3) the pages lengths _were _relevant because they illustrated the fact that my life was consumed by all things work and no fun and I didn't have time or energy to write for fun. Or even read. Please note, I'm _not_ bragging. I'm just stating _fact._ My second job and teaching assistant stuff was also relevant (see note #3 above). I put the thing in about my girlfriend because she was going through some crappy personal stuff at the time, and I wanted to make her smile (mission accomplished, by the way. I'm so awesome. - _That _is bragging), so it was relevant because I said it was, end of story, and it had nothing to do with me "bragging". If I _really _wanted to brag in that author's note, I would have said something about how amazing I am and how no one else could have done all of that successfully except for me, blah, blah, blah. Also, if I wanted to brag, I would have kept that author's note up instead of deleting it. Do you see the flaw in your thinking/"constructive bashing" now? I would be happy to explain further if need be. In addition, I find it interesting that you say that there are two ways to take the content of my author's note, yet you only give credence to the view you obviously believed to be true: that I was merely bragging so that people from around the world whom I don't know, nor will ever meet in real life (realistically speaking) could tell me how awesome I am. Please. I'm not a teenager (no offense to teenagers or anything - I know there are many mature teenagers out there - but this would seem more likely in someone younger) or a child. I don't really give a crap what random people think of me - never have and never will. Do I have FFN "friends" whose opinions I do care about? Of course. But most? Not particularly. I don't even care what most people in real life think about me. Which, by the way, would make bragging very out of character for me. In any case, my advice to you is not to judge someone if you don't know him/her (an oldie, but goody lol), and if there are two sides you can perceive, don't automatically assume it's the worse of the two. You may end up with your foot in your mouth. That is all. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.**

**Okay, I'm done now. Happy reading, everyone! :D**

* * *

Her mother had company for breakfast.

"Finn," Rachel said, guilt shoving her heart up into her throat as she entered the dining room, "what are you doing here?" Had Quinn told him about the kiss? Had someone else seen them go out onto the balcony? And why did that thought fill her with more hope than horror?

Her fiancé, who had risen to his feet at her entrance, sat back down. "I've come in hopes that I might persuade you and your mama to dine with us tonight at Brahm House."

"Of course, it did not take much persuasion," her mother replied jovially—more jovial than Rachel had seen her in quite some time.

"Your mama and I have been discussing plans for the wedding." The smile Finn flashed her mother struck Rachel as cunning and secretive rather than truly happy. What were the two of them up to? Somehow, she just knew it involved Quinn.

"Wonderful," she replied, forcing a bright smile as she crossed to the buffet where a breakfast she no longer felt like eating awaited. "Anything you'd care to share with me?"

"Oh no." Shelby shook her head. "It's nothing you and I haven't already discussed, dear."

It was so easy for both of them to lie to her, Rachel realized, spooning coddled eggs onto her plate. If either of them set out to harm Quinn in any way, she would wash her hands of them both. It would be difficult to turn her back on her mother, but she wasn't so certain she even knew her mother anymore.

The idea was appealing even if they didn't harm Quinn. For the first time, Rachel considered crying off the engagement. She could do it.

Then she could marry Quinn.

The thought startled her so much that she almost dropped her plate.

"Are you quite all right, my dear?" Finn asked. He sounded genuinely worried and Rachel wondered if he meant it.

"I'm fine," she lied. "I'm just a little tired, that's all." She couldn't very well tell him that she was considering jilting him for his sister, now could she? And other than that one beautiful kiss, she had no idea if Quinn would even want her.

And instead of Quinn's kisses, she should be thinking of Finn's. But he had never kissed her as Quinn had. Perhaps she should ask him to? How else could she know if it was Quinn alone who made her feel this way, or if she was just fickle?

"Tired?" Finn's tone was one of amused censure. "It's after eleven. How could you possibly be tired?"

_Because I spent half the night thinking about what a divine kisser your sister is._

"I didn't sleep well last night. I had a headache." That was all the explanation he needed.

She didn't dare look at either one of them for fear they would see the distrust, or worse, the guilt, in her eyes. A footman held her chair as she seated herself at the table.

Finn sipped his coffee. "I was hoping you and your mama might want to visit some warehouses today to shop for household items—our household."

"I'm afraid I'm not really feeling all the thing today, Finn." Rachel hoped that she looked as apologetic as she sounded. "Why don't you and Mama go? I'm sure I will love whatever you pick out."

There wasn't much chance of that, but it would give her an opportunity to express her fears to Quinn. Perhaps she was wrong in her suspicions, but she knew how much her mother wanted a titled son-in-law, and she knew how much the title meant to Finn. Neither one of them would give up that easily.

Her mother looked positively thrilled with the turn of events, deepening Rachel's suspicion. Normally her mother would insist she come along, but today she obviously wanted Finn all to herself.

"If you are unwell, dear, perhaps we will go one without you. After all, it is only fabric and furnishings we will be looking at. You can approve the choices before they're purchased." Shelby smiled.

Finn reached out and took her hand. It was all Rachel could do not to jerk it back. What was wrong with her? It was the kiss. Somehow, that kiss had changed everything, and now the touch of her fiancé, which at one time had at least been pleasant, made her cringe.

It was the guilt. It had to be the guilt that was responsible for this sudden aversion to the man she was supposed to marry.

"Are you certain you will be all right if we leave you?"

Rachel managed a tight smile. "I'll be fine. I will have Betsy bring me a headache powder and lie down. By the time we join you for dinner tonight, I will be right as rain."

That seemed to appease them both and conversation turned to different matters. Keeping her responses to a minimum, and focusing her attention on her food, Rachel managed to make it through the next half hour until they left. Then, as soon as they were out the door, she penned a note to Quinn that simply said:

_I must speak with you. Please come at once._

She couldn't fight her suspicions any longer. She was convinced her mother and Finn were scheming against Quinn and she couldn't keep silent any longer. Rachel would never forgive herself if they did something to ruin Quinn's life—something she might have prevented.

She sent Jane with the note rather than a footman, knowing her maid could be trusted to secrecy, and within half an hour Quinn was standing in the blue drawing room, wringing her gloves in her hands.

"I'm glad my message found you at home," Rachel said, breaking the silence.

The blonde regarded her solemnly. "I was trying to think of an excuse to come see you. Rachel, about last night…I apologize if I offended you in any way."

"Offended me?" Quinn thought she had offended her?

She nodded. "Forcing my attentions on you was very impolite of me and I'm sorry."

"Oh." What else could she say? That Quinn shouldn't be sorry because she enjoyed it? Well, that was just too brazen, even for her! And when Quinn made it sound as though kissing her had been a mistake—which she knew it _should _have been—it made her reluctant to speak her feelings. A young lady never told someone how she felt about them unless they made a declaration first, although it was slightly more complicated when two ladies were involved.

And it usually helped if the young lady in question knew just what her feelings were.

"I didn't, did I?" Both the blonde's tone and expression were hesitant. "Offend you, that is?"

Rachel shook her head, too bewildered to do much else. "No, you didn't offend me."

Quinn's face brightened somewhat. "Good. I am very happy to hear that. I hardly slept at all last night. I kept replaying it over and over in my head—" She flushed deep crimson and Rachel's heart flipped in her chest.

So she hadn't been the only one who had lain awake last night.

"I mean…I felt so awful about it," Quinn insisted, and Rachel wasn't certain which one of them the other girl was trying to convince. "I had no right to take such liberties. You are engaged to my brother."

Rachel didn't need to hear her repeat all the things she had already thought. She knew all the reasons why the kiss had been wrong, but that didn't change the fact that it had felt so _right._

It also didn't change the fact that her mother and Finn were up to no good.

Reaching out, she grabbed Quinn's hand to keep her from saying more. Rachel tried to ignore the thrill that shot through her as her bare fingers clasped Quinn's longer ones. Was it her imagination or did the blonde seem as shocked by the contact as she was?

"Quinn, right now we have something more important to discuss than a kiss."

Quinn frowned, as though she had difficulty believing her, and raised a brow. "Such as?"

Rachel took a deep breath. If her heart didn't soon slow down it was going to play itself out. "I suspect my mother and Finn are plotting against you."

She laughed. Not a chuckle, but a big, booming laugh.

Rachel fought the urge to kick her. "This is not funny!"

Sobering, Quinn stared at her. "You're serious."

"Of course I am! Did you think I would send you such an urgent summons if I wasn't?"

"I thought…I thought you were just being coy," Quinn answered sheepishly.

"Coy!" Rachel had to laugh at that. "I have never been coy in my life." But she had been coy at the ball last night, hadn't she? Well, she would just blame that on Quinn. The blonde brought out the flirt in her.

Setting her gloves on the table beside her, Quinn braced her elbows on her knees and leaned forward. "What do you believe Finn and your mother have in store for me?"

How to say it without making both Finn and her mother sound like the worst kind of people?

There wasn't a way.

"I have heard Mama speak several times about Finn wanting to prove you illegitimate."

"Illegitimate?" Her tone was incredulous. "But my parents were married."

"Can you prove it?"

Quinn's face darkened, her expression hardened, and suddenly Rachel found her terribly fierce and intimidating. "What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything," Rachel assured her quickly. "I have no doubt that your parents were legally wed. But I fear Finn and my mother are going to try to make it look as though they weren't so Finn will inherit the title."

Quinn's expression was still dark. "If the title means that much to him he's welcome to it. I would give it to him if I could."

"You would?"

Quinn frowned at her surprised tone. "Of course I would! I don't need it. I've already got one title. What the devil am I supposed to do with another one? It's the money I need."

"You need money?"

The blonde nodded. "The village surrounding my home in Scotland has always depended upon my family and their lands. When my father left us, apparently my mother gave him quite a large loan—one she wouldn't allow him to repay. Things began to fall into disrepair. She was so in love with him that she neglected everything else. With the money left to me by my father, I can begin to restore the castle, and the village will be prosperous again."

Rachel had never met anyone like Quinn Fabray in her entire life. She was more concerned about her "village" than she was about herself.

"I have money," Rachel announced abruptly.

Quinn looked as though the brunette had just told her she had a third leg. "What are you saying?"

Yes, what was she saying? Marry me and you can have my fortune? For someone unsure of her feelings, she was certainly talking like she knew what she wanted. Lud, she was practically throwing herself at the blonde!

"Just that if I can help you in any way I will."

Quinn didn't look as relieved as she expected. Was it possible that the other girl was just as confused about this…this _attraction_ between them as she was? Never in her eighteen years had she been so willing to break every rule of society for someone, but she knew without a doubt that she would dance a barefooted jig on the Prince Regent's supper table if Quinn asked her to.

"Thank you. Your friendship means more to me than you will ever know." Their eyes locked and right then and there Rachel knew that they _both _wanted to be more than friends.

The drawing room door burst open before either of them could say any more. They both jumped to their feet in surprise. Finn stomped into the room, followed by Mrs. Berry, a mixture of anxiety and anger on his face.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, pointing an accusing finger at Quinn.

Rachel stepped forward, barely containing her own anger. "When did you become master of this house?"

Finn stared at her in shocked surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but Quinn cut him off.

"I was here looking for you, brother."

Finn pulled himself together, but his expression was still one of shock. "For me?"

An easy smile curved Quinn's lips.

"Yes. Your mother told me where you had gone and I thought I would stop by and see if you would care to accompany me on a horse ride. As soon as I arrived, Miss Berry told me you had gone out with Mrs. Berry and asked if I would care to wait." She smiled at Rachel. "I couldn't refuse my future sister-in-law, now could I?"

She was so convincing that even Rachel almost believed her story, but then she noticed how Quinn kept her hands behind her back and that they were knotted into fists. She did not like to lie, even to someone who sought to publicly destroy her.

Finn seemed to believe her as well. He looked positively sheepish. "I'm afraid that I cannot join you today. I'm taking Mrs. Berry out shopping. We just came back because I had forgotten my gloves."

"Then they would be in the dining room," Rachel replied coolly. "Not in here."

Finn flushed and her mother sent her a scolding look, but Rachel ignored them both. "Come, _Your Grace_. I shall see you to the door." It was petty, she knew, but she had intentionally stressed Quinn's title to annoy Finn and her mother.

Quinn offered Rachel her arm. Her hazel eyes teased the shorter girl without Quinn having to say a word. Quinn didn't disapprove of Rachel's lack of manners. She was amused by them.

"Good day to you, Mrs. Berry, Finn."

Both Shelby and Finn muttered an inaudible reply.

Rachel led Quinn out of the drawing room and though the hall to the front door. Quinn looked around to make sure they weren't being watched before asking, "When will I see you again?"

"Tonight," Rachel replied, enjoying the flicker of pleasure and surprise that crossed Quinn's beautiful face. "Finn invited us to dinner."

Quinn grinned. "Let's hope I'm not to be the main course."

Rachel chuckled, raising her gaze to the blonde's. The warmth in her eyes caused Rachel's heart to skip a beat.

"We have much to discuss," Quinn told her. "Do you think you will be able to sneak away?"

Rachel didn't like all this secrecy, but knew it was necessary if they were to stay ahead of Finn and her mother's plotting. "I believe I can."

"Good. Until tonight then." The blonde reached down and caught one of Rachel's hands, raising it to her pink lips. Softly, Quinn brushed her mouth across the brunette's naturally tanned knuckles, sending a jolt through Rachel's entire body.

"Until tonight," she whispered, unable to tear her gaze from Quinn's.

Quinn left just as Finn and Shelby came into the hall.

"I'm going to go lie down now," Rachel said, hurrying toward the stairs in an effort to escape them both. Despite her conviction that she had done the right thing in going to Quinn, she couldn't help feeling like a traitor.

"Rachel!"

She stopped, gathering her strength as Finn bounded toward her.

She raised a questioning brow, but remained silent.

"Rachel, dearest," he said, a wounded-puppy expression on his face. "I'm very sorry about my behavior earlier. I hope you will forgive me."

He looked so sincere. Was she wrong about him? No. Underneath that smooth, gentlemanly exterior was a young man who couldn't stand to lose. Had all his sweetness toward her been just another part of the charade? Or did he truly care about her?

And could she honestly marry him now, knowing him as she did?

"I'm not the one you should apologize to, Finn, but yes, I forgive you."

_In a pig's eye._

A triumphant smile brightened his face and Rachel wondered if everything in his life was about winning. She felt sorry for him if it was.

"Excellent. Now, what are you going to wear tonight? I want to make certain that we complement each other."

What difference did it make? Sighing, Rachel replied, "I have a handful of new evening gowns. One is a very pretty shade of violet—I thought I would wear that." Violet was a lovely color on her. She always felt good when she wore it.

Finn smiled. "So you want to look pretty for your special someone, hmm?"

She stared into his smug face and realized just how accurate he was.

"Yes, Finn." She smiled somewhat smugly herself. "I want to look very pretty for my special someone."

Then she turned and started up the stairs, wondering if Quinn liked violet.

* * *

Quinn found it remarkably easy to lie to her brother, especially now that she knew her younger sibling was scheming to destroy her. She had suspected Finn's dislike, and the young man had admitted to being jealous, but how could he possibly stoop so low as to try to label Quinn illegitimate?

She watched her younger brother from her seat at the head of the dinner table. Finn was all ease and charm as he chatted with Rachel and her parents. Only Rachel appeared immune to his spell. Fortunately, Finn didn't seem to notice his fiancé's lack of enthusiasm. Quinn didn't want Finn to know they were on to him. Not yet, anyway. She wanted to find out exactly what her brother was up to before letting Finn know she was aware of his plans.

Her gaze drifted to Rachel and her heart sped up at the sight of her. She was easily the most beautiful girl she had ever seen. The violet of her silk gown brightened her complexion and made her eyes seem like huge, dark pools. Her thick hair was piled high on her head, with a few wisps hanging down to frame her face. She looked elegant and composed, and when the brunette looked at her, Quinn felt as though she were floating.

And she couldn't even care anymore that Rachel was English. She was learning very quickly that the heart had no prejudice where geography was concerned. It knew no boundaries. Her heart was drawn to Rachel just as her mother's had been drawn to her father. There was no use fighting it.

But she would fight it because Rachel was engaged to her brother.

"You're awfully quiet this evening, Quinn," Carole remarked as she sliced into the roast quail on her plate. "Are you unwell?"

Tearing her gaze away from Rachel's, Quinn smiled at the woman she was quickly coming to think of as her stepmother. "No, ma'am. I am quite well, I assure you. I was just thinking about the letter my father left for me." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Finn stiffen. It was a cheap shot at her sibling, but it gave Quinn immense satisfaction.

Carole smiled warmly. "Good thoughts, I hope?"

"Yes, ma'am. The best."

Finn's eyes narrowed. "How was your ride this afternoon?"

Quinn smiled. Obviously he hadn't believed her story. "It went very well, thank you, brother. You should join me next time."

Quinn looked as though she would rather swallow glass.

After leaving Rachel, Quinn had indeed gone on a horse ride around London, even though it hadn't been her original plan. She ended up sitting in Hyde Park, where she met a close acquaintance of her father, the Earl of Whitly. He had been a friend of her father's for years and had known about Philip's first marriage. He and Quinn talked for several hours and when Quinn finally left to return to Brahm House, she felt as though she had a better understanding of the man her father was. She also felt a deep and biting regret that she had never had a chance to get to know him.

"Yes, well. After Mrs. Berry and I completed our shopping excursion, I went to White's club to attend to some business matters," Finn quipped shortly.

"I wish I had a club," Brittany remarked after swallowing a bite of potato. "Gentlemen get to have all the fun."

"Young ladies have more important things to do than idle away the day at some club," Shelby remarked crisply. "Such pursuits would be damaging to the female mind."

From the expression on Brittany's face, it was clear she heartily disagreed with Rachel's mother, but good manners dictated that she not argue and so she speared another bite of potato with her fork and jammed it into her mouth. Quinn smiled. Apparently she wasn't the only one in the family who needed help holding their tongue.

Taking a sip of her wine, Quinn turned her attention to the food on her plate. She wasn't very hungry, but she forced herself to eat anyway. The weight of Finn's stare was heavy upon her shoulders, and Quinn did not want her brother to see that she was not as at ease as she tried to appear.

After dessert, the ladies rose and left the men to their port and cigars. Once in the drawing room, Carole asked Brittany to play the piano for them, and she happily agreed. Shelby took a seat next to Carole on the small settee by the window, and Rachel sat across from them on the reading chair. Quinn stood next to Rachel and they began an idle conversation on their favorite pieces of poetry.

Quinn could hear Carole and Shelby's conversation transition abruptly to plans for the wedding when Carole mentioned a new type of rose she had planted in her garden.

"Speaking of flowers," Shelby's loud voice carried across the room, "Rachel simply must have lilies for her bouquet. Any other flower would be inadequate."

Rachel wasn't planning on still going through with it, was she? Could she, now that she knew what Finn was up to? What about her? Could Rachel just turn her back on this…this…whatever it was between them? For that matter, could she?

Part of Quinn said that she should stay as far away from Rachel as possible, that she had done enough damage to Finn's life already. Another, much larger part said curse Finn, and to pursue Rachel with every last ounce of energy she had. She had never met anyone like her, who liked to read poetry, who enjoyed long walks, and who had so much spirit.

The people in Glenshea didn't understand her because even though she was half Scottish, she was also half English. They understood that wild and free side of her, but they didn't appreciate her love of books and music. She was certain that Rachel understood, and that beneath her ladylike exterior, there was a heart as wild as any Scottish lass. Rachel was her perfect match. She had felt it from the first moment she saw the brunette.

When Finn and Mr. Berry returned to the drawing room, instead of staying with Rachel as she wanted, Quinn turned toward the piano where Brittany sat. She didn't want Finn to know how eager she was for Rachel's attention.

Her sister looked up from the sheets of music with a happy smile. Quinn loved how they had formed an instant bond and were already completely at ease with each other.

"You said you could play, didn't you, Quinn?"

"A little," she replied, caressing the polished top of the Broadwood Grand pianoforte. It was exquisite.

Brittany leaped up from her seat. "Then you must play for us!"

Caught. She had been well and truly trapped by her younger sister who was tired of playing and singing for company's enjoyment, she could see it in her crystal blue eyes.

"One song," Quinn informed her with mock severity as Carole and Rachel insisted that she play. "I will play one song and then the instrument is yours again, brat."

Smiling at her teasing, Brittany skipped off to the sofa where her mother sat and settled upon it like a queen on her throne.

Well, she'd done it now. Quinn hadn't played for an audience in quite some time. Normally she played for her grandmother during winter evenings when there was little else to do but stay inside around the fire where it was warm.

Gently, her fingers trailed along the keyboard playing no one melody in particular until they were nimble and comfortable on the ivory keys. Then, concentrating on the music and not the fact that Rachel was watching, Quinn began to play the first song that came into her head.

The music was soft and simple, and as the words came flooding forth, she opened her mouth to give them voice.

"_The water is wide, I cannot get o'er. And neither have I wings to fly. Oh, go and get me some little boat to carry o'er my true love and I."_

She could feel all eyes on her as her voice rose and fell with the music. She was a fair singer, as music was in her blood just as it ran through the veins of every Scotsman she knew. And as she sung, she thought of Rachel, though Quinn dared not look at her.

"Where love it planted, O there it grows. It buds and blossoms like some rose; it has a sweet and pleasant smell. No flow'r on earth can it excel."

Someone cleared their throat. Faintly, a voice rose in conversation—not enough to drown Quinn's out, but just loud enough to let her know that Finn was not impressed with her musical abilities.

Quinn raised her head and saw her brother conversing openly with Rachel's mother. It was terribly rude behavior, but Quinn was more amused than anything else. Her pride didn't like the insult, however, and so she turned her gaze to Rachel and sang the next verse.

"There is a ship sailing on the sea. She's loaded deep as deep can be. But not so deep as in love I am; I care not if I sink or swim."

And Finn, who was so busy trying to humiliate her, didn't even notice the earnest expression on Quinn's face as she sang, or the blush that bloomed on Rachel's cheeks as Quinn watched her. For one timeless moment, there were only the two of them in the entire world, and in that moment Quinn knew that neither of them would be able to simply walk away from this thing between them.

Fortunately, no one else seemed to notice how they gazed at each other, or that Quinn was singing for her and her alone. Blast it all, she was going to have to be more careful about hiding her feelings if she didn't want Finn to find out about them.

Somehow the blonde managed to make it through the remainder of the song and the applause that followed. Only Carole, Brittany, and Rachel seemed sincere in their enjoyment. Mrs. Berry and Finn barely clapped at all and glared at her with thinly veiled hostility. Mr. Berry was sound asleep in a winged-back chair near the fireplace, snoring softly. Quinn smile. Singing someone to sleep could be considered a compliment, she supposed.

"Who would like to joint me at the card table for a game of whist?" Carole piped up, her tone bright. Quinn had no doubt she had noticed Finn's objectionable behavior and sought to lighten the mood of the party.

Her stepmother fixed her attention on her son. "Finn, Mrs. Berry, won't you join me?"

Mrs. Berry looked delighted at the prospect of being Finn's partner. "Rachel, you will join us." It was a demand, not a request.

Rachel shook her head, her pink lips curving in a rueful smile. "Pray, excuse me, Mama. I find I still have a touch of the headache and haven't the concentration for cards tonight. Perhaps Brittany would be so good as to take my place?"

Quinn caught the brunette's quick sideways glance and instantly stepped forward. "I was just thinking about taking a turn about the garden, Miss Berry. Would you care to join me?" She lifted her gaze to meet Finn's. Her brother's eyes were cold. "That is, if it is all right with you, brother."

There wasn't much Finn could say without making himself look ungracious, and from the tightness of his jaw, he knew it. Quinn smiled sweetly.

"Of course it's fine with me," Finn replied, his tone stiff. "Don't stay out too long, Rachel dearest. It looks as though it might rain."

It looked no such thing, but Quinn took the remark as the veiled warning it was. Giving her brother a sharp nod, Quinn offered her arm to Rachel. The shorter girl rose to her feet and laid her hand upon Quinn's forearm, sparing not even a glance for her fiancé. Out of the corner of her eye, Quinn saw Finn frown. They would have to be very careful with how they treated Finn, lest he discover that Rachel had betrayed his confidence by telling Quinn of his plans.

Outside, the night air was warm, if not a little damp. The scent of roses and jasmine wafted on the breeze, filling Quinn's lungs with the sweet, heady scent.

They were silent as they walked down the low steps from the terrace to the grounds below. The gravel path crunched beneath their feet—the only sound in the otherwise silent garden.

"He is becoming suspicious," Quinn announced once they were a safe distance from the house. "We must be careful, or he will realize you have told me what he's up to."

Rachel nodded, her delicate features grim in the moonlight. "It's just so hard to pretend. I find it difficult pretend my feelings for him haven't changed."

"You're not still planning to marry him, are you?" Quinn's hear twisted at the thought.

Rachel shook her head, tendrils of hair sweeping her shoulders. "I don't know. My parents are very desirous of the match, but…there is no way I can marry someone I neither love nor respect."

Quinn hadn't realized she had been holding her breath until it came out of her lungs in a sigh of relief. "Surely they wouldn't force you to go through with the marriage if your feelings have altered so drastically?" Quinn couldn't imagine any parents being so cruel. No, that was untrue. She could very well see Mrs. Berry behaving in such a manner. Mr. Berry might actually stay awake long enough to put up a fight where his only daughter was concerned, however. And she couldn't imagine anyone forcing Rachel to do something she didn't want to.

Rachel's dark eyes were filled with regret as her gaze met Quinn's. "He wasn't always like this, you know. When we first met, he was different. Very kind and very charming. I was flattered by his attention."

This was not what Quinn wanted to hear. She didn't want to know that Finn was capable of being nice and kind. She didn't want to feel sorry for her brother, and she certainly didn't want to feel any more guilt where Finn was concerned.

The brunette stared straight ahead as they drifted along the winding path. "He was always so attentive. He has always been stiff and proper, and very proud of his social station, but I had never seen this conniving, greedy side of his nature before. Not until—"

"Not until me," Quinn supplied.

Rachel's head whipped around to face the blonde. "I was going to say that it wasn't until his—_your_—father's death that I first truly noticed it." She looked away again. "The idea of becoming the duke consumed him. It became all he thought of, the prospect of finally filling his father's shoes. Then he found out about you."

Quinn's stomach clenched, as did her jaw. "If I had known…"

"But you didn't. How could you have?" Rachel stopped walking and seized one of Quinn's hands in her slightly smaller ones. "Quinn, nothing that has happened is your fault. Finn alone is responsible for his behavior. You can't blame yourself for his deceit and greed."

Quinn stared down at her earnest face. Rachel's eyes were nearly black in the darkness. The icy light of the moon made her skin glow with a heavenly light, and her mouth…her mouth was so perfect and pink.

Quinn wanted to kiss her. She _needed _to kiss her.

"And you're certain you don't love him anymore?" Her voice was hoarse.

Rachel shook her head, her expression somewhat sorrowful. "I'm not certain that I have ever known what love is."

Quinn's heart sagged at her words. What did she expect? That Rachel would toss Finn aside with one breath and declare her love for her with another? Of course she couldn't do that. It was unfeeling of the blonde to expect it.

"Quinn?" The question was a timid one.

She stopped walking and turned toward the brunette. "Yes?"

Her eyes were wide and questioning. "Have you ever truly cared about someone before?"

Quinn's poor heart burst with the desire to tell her how she felt, but she couldn't find the words to describe it. How did you tell someone it hurt to breathe when she was near? That your heart ached at the mere thought of her? How could she say such things and make Rachel understand that such agony was the sweetest thing she had ever experienced?

So Quinn didn't even try to use words. In fact, she didn't say anything at all. She simply smiled.

And then she pulled Rachel close and did what she had been dying to do ever since the last time she had kissed her.

She kissed her again.

* * *

**A/N: Ooooo, yay, another kiss! But hmm...kissing in the garden during a dinner/get together? Not the wisest decision Quinn and Rachel have ever made lol. Will anyone catch them? Will Finn become suspicious that Quinn knows what's going on? What about Shelby? How exactly does she factor in here? Find out more as _All That's Best _continues...;)**

**Thanks for reading! I hope you guys liked the chapter! I'll be back with chapter 7 as soon as I can :D**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hello, readers! :)**

**So...no excuses on not updating Sunday. I finished the chapter Sunday morning, but I was just lazy. Anywho...yay, new chapter! lol**

**Anonymous reviews!**

_**jock -**_** Thanks for the review, as always! :) Haha, yeah, so glad to be back to writing for fun lol. Anywho, I'm glad you're liking Quinn and the Faberry relationship! :) I hope the rest of the story doesn't disappoint. Thanks again for the review, and I hope you like this chapter! :)**

**__****This is all so -**** *Blushes* Thanks so much for the kind words! I don't know if this really is a "perfect" story, and I'm sure there are many out there (myself included) who would say it's not, but your sentiment is duly noted and much appreciated! Talk about inflating my ego lol ;) Of course...now I'm paranoid I'll do something you don't like with the story haha. I guess I'll just do my best and hope you like it! Thanks again for your review! :)**

_******Guest -**_****** Thanks for the review! I'm really glad you're liking the story so much so far! I hope the rest doesn't disappoint! :)**

******So...here continues the story. Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Locked in Quinn's warm embrace, Rachel felt as though she were floating. One hand held Quinn firmly at the waist while the other caressed her silky smooth cheek and gently pulled the blonde in closer, craving more contact.

Rachel's heart was racing and being this close to the blonde made every fiber of her being come alive, from the top of her head all the way down to her toes, as though electricity flowed through her veins. Quinn's warmth wrapped around her, and the scent of her filled the brunette's nostrils. Quinn smelled of the freshness of soap, with a hint of violets and lavender from her perfume. It made Rachel dizzy, it smelled so good.

Oh, Rachel could get used to kissing her. In fact, she could happily spend the rest of her life testing that very theory. Quinn's breath was sweet; her lips were soft and warm. Rachel's arms snaked around the blonde's neck, so the other girl wouldn't pull away before she was ready to release her. And when Quinn's arms tightened around her, Rachel felt as though they were the only two people in the world.

But they weren't.

"Ra-_chel!_" It came from a distance, but still too close for comfort.

_Blast it all._

Rachel stiffened. Quinn went completely still in her arms. The blonde lifted her head, and Rachel missed the feel of Quinn's lips on hers.

"It's Finn," Quinn whispered, dropping her hands from their places on the brunette.

Rachel nodded. "Must have been a quick game of whist." She lowered her arms to her sides as well. "Shall we hide, or shall we face him?" She was all for hiding.

Quinn smiled. What a beautiful mouth she had! "I think we ought to face him. After all, it might be something important."

Linking arms, they walked in the direction of Finn's voice, his calls growing louder with each step. Finally, they found him by the fountain.

He did not look happy to see them.

"Did you not hear me calling?" he demanded as they leisurely strolled toward him.

"We heard," Quinn replied. "And we came. Now what the devil is the matter that you had to come out here caterwauling like a fishmonger?"

Rachel bit her lip to keep from giggling. Finn had rather sounded like someone calling out for people to buy fish in a market.

Finn's expression darkened. "I have come to fetch Rachel." He turned to her and she struggled to put on a straight face. "Your mother has come down with a sudden and severe megrim and wishes to return home at once. She asked me to find you." He shot an accusatory glance at Quinn.

_Megrim, my foot,_ Rachel thought, mentally rolling her eyes. Her mother rarely suffered from headaches. Most likely her mother and Finn couldn't stand her being alone with Quinn for more than five minutes and had concocted the scheme to separate them. Little did they know that both Rachel and Quinn were well aware of their schemes and wouldn't be fooled.

"Then I will return at once," Rachel replied. There was no reason for her to remain behind—except for Quinn, and she doubted that they would manage to be alone again that evening.

Finn offered his arm with an expectant gaze.

Reluctantly, Rachel pulled her arm free of Quinn's. Finn was still her fiancé, regardless of how confused she was about her feelings. She placed her hand on Finn's forearm and pretended not to notice the smug look he directed at his sister.

As they walked back to the house, Rachel could feel the heat of Quinn's gaze burning into her back. Knowing the blonde was watching her was enough to raise goose bumps on her arms and shoulders. A thrilling shiver raced down her spine.

"Are you cold?" Finn asked.

Rachel shook her head, not trusting her voice at that moment. Cold? Oh no, she wasn't cold. In fact, she was rather warm. Warm with memories of Quinn's arms holding her and how her heart had hammered wildly as the duchess had kissed her. Had it affected Quinn so deeply as well? Rachel was tempted just to turn around and ask her and put an end to this pretending, but she knew it would be a mistake.

Surely Quinn wouldn't kiss her if she didn't care about her? But Finn kissed her sometimes as well, and Rachel didn't know the depths of his feelings either. Oh, what a mess! Caught between two siblings, both so different, and not sure which one was the right one for her.

She cared about Finn, she really did. She just wasn't certain how deeply. She hated thinking that he would deliberately set out to ruin Quinn, but she couldn't deny her suspicions.

And she was coming to care about Quinn. Very much so. In fact, if she wasn't careful, Rachel feared her infatuation with the young duchess would quickly turn into something more. What she felt for the blonde was something wild and uncontrollable. Her knees were like jelly whenever Quinn was near, and her heart pounded like the hooves of a dozen racehorses. Was it love?

The thought startled her. Was she falling in love with Quinn? She couldn't be. Could she? Oh dear, it was certainly going to make a mess of things if she was.

Rachel's mother and father were sitting in the drawing room when they entered the house. Her father sat beside her mother, simply holding her hand. Her mother had a cold compress held to her forehead as she lounged on a green velvet sofa like a woman on the verge of death itself. Only the furious glitter in her eyes revealed her as the actress that she was.

At that moment, Rachel realized how much she had come to dislike her mother.

As they left the room, Rachel was once again on Finn's arm. It was he who took her light shawl from Hummel and placed it around her shoulders. He pressed a chaste kiss against her cheek. It immediately reminded Rachel of the passionate embrace she and Quinn had shared in the garden, and as she gazed into Finn's brown eyes, guilt washed over her.

She had no business kissing Quinn when she was engaged to the blonde's brother. She had betrayed her fiancé's trust—first by going behind his back to warn Quinn of his plans, and second by kissing someone else. She should be heartily ashamed of herself.

But she wasn't. She wasn't nearly as ashamed as she should be.

They said their good-byes, Rachel being careful not to put more into Quinn's than anyone else's. Rachel hated this pretending. She was so worried that she was going to make a mistake, say something she shouldn't. Quinn didn't look nervous at all. In fact, Quinn treated her as though she were nothing more than her brother's betrothed. If Rachel didn't know better, she wouldn't have thought the blonde cared for her at all.

"What the devil were you about, girl, going out into the garden alone with that barbarian?" her mother snapped as soon as they were seated in their carriage and rolling down the lane. "She could have taken advantage of your innocence, or God only knows what else."

Rachel arched a brow. "I see your megrim has miraculously cured itself."

Her mother had the good grace to blush. "Don't change the subject. Do you want to risk ruining everything with the duke?"

"_Quinn_ is the heir, Mama." Lord, but she was getting tired of reminding her mother of that fact!

Shelby scowled. "She most certainly is not! And Finn is going to prove it."

"Oh?" Rachel tried to make her expression as innocent as possible. "And just how does my fiancé plan to do that?"

Her mother clammed up like a miser's purse. "I'm not at liberty to say."

Not at liberty to say? Not at liberty to say! Obviously Finn already harbored some suspicions about her relationship with Quinn if he had sworn her mother to secrecy.

Which raised the question, if Finn didn't trust her, then why did he want to marry her? He certainly didn't need to marry her, unless he was keeping both her and her fortune nearby just in case he couldn't prove Quinn illegitimate. Could he possibly be that greedy? He had enough money of his own without adding hers to it.

Could it be that Finn actually cared about her? Why didn't he tell her? Why didn't he make her feel like Quinn did?

Rachel leaned back against the seat. "Fine," she said as the carriage hit a rut in the road, knocking her teeth together with the impact. "I will just ask Finn what his plan is. Then he will know that you have spoken about it in front of me before."

Her mother's reaction was not what she had hoped for. Shelby's hand whipped out and caught Rachel's upper arm in a viselike grip.

"Ow!" Rachel turned to her father for help, but he was sound asleep in the corner.

"You will do no such thing!" her mother warned, her voice low and trembling. "I will not allow you to ruin all of my hopes."

"Your hopes?" Her mother was cutting off the flow of blood in her arm, but Rachel was too angry to care. "What about _my _hopes, Mama? Or do you even care what I want?"

The older woman seemed surprised by the question. Her eyes narrowed. "Are you telling me that you have changed your mind about marrying Finn? Because it's a little late for that now, missy. You're going to marry him and that's that."

Oh no, she wasn't! And she was very tempted to tell her mother that too, but somehow Rachel managed to hold her tongue.

"You want to have a duke for a son-in-law so badly that you would resort to threatening your own daughter? What's happened to you, Mama? I used to be more to you than something you could sell to the highest bidder."

Shelby's expression softened, as did her hold on her daughter's arm. Rachel gasped at the rush that tingled through her veins.

"It's because I love you that I want to see you well matched." Shelby pouted. "Is it such a crime for a mother to want to see her daughter married to a peer of the realm?"

Sighing, Rachel shook her head. "I think every mother would like to see her daughter married to someone in the higher ranks of society, but Mama, you're going to ruin someone else's life in order to get it!"

Shelby waved a gloved hand. "Oh, pish. She already has one title; she is certainly not going to miss this one."

"But she'll miss—" Rachel caught herself before she could blurt out "money".

Her mother jumped on it like a cat on a bowl of cream. "She'll miss _what?_"

"The…the connection to her father," Rachel lied. "The title is all she has to remember him by."

Again her mother was unmoved. "I'm sure Carole would give her a portrait of the late duke, or some other token."

Rachel stared at her mother, aghast. "You really don't care that Finn is planning to ruin her, do you?"

Shelby shrugged. "Why should I? The girl is nothing to me. Besides, Finn is confident that his father was not married to the Scot's mother, so he would only be taking what's rightfully his anyway."

"Does Finn have any proof to support his claim?"

Her mother's lips tightened. "I'm not at liberty to say."

But Rachel hid her smile. Her mother had told her enough. Finn didn't have any proof. Not yet. And he wasn't going to find any, of that she was certain. Quinn's parents had been married, even Carole said so.

So what would Finn do when he learned that? Would he leave Quinn alone?

Or would he try to find another way to destroy his sister?

* * *

Finn's door closed with a soft thud. Inside her room, her own door open just enough so that she could see into the hall, Quinn watched as her brother strode down the corridor toward the stairs.

Early as usual. Over the past few days, Quinn had learned that her brother liked to be early for everything—it tended to make others feel bad for keeping him waiting. No doubt Finn would be early for his own funeral if he could manage it.

But tonight, her brother's punctuality would be to Quinn's advantage. She still had a good fifteen minutes before the family was to gather in the drawing room to depart for Lady Markby's ball. It wasn't much, but it would allow her to do a quick search of Finn's rooms before they left.

She crept out the door and jogged down the hall so quietly that even she could barely hear her feet hit the carpet. Finn's door was unlocked and Quinn slipped inside, closing it again behind her.

Finn's room was fastidiously clean. Not even so much as a neckcloth or pair of stockings littered the intricately designed carpet. Not a wrinkle marred the bedspread on the high four-poster bed.

It was unnerving, really. What eighteen-year-old bachelor kept his rooms so tidy? It just wasn't natural. There should at least be a pair of stockings lying about. Then again, Finn seemed to thrive on order. It was hardly normal for a young man that age to be engaged either. Usually men waited until their mid to late twenties before even contemplating the idea. Of course, for a girl like Rachel, Quinn could understand why any man would give up his bachelorhood. She herself would gladly give up being single for a girl like Rachel.

Did Finn love her? Was he capable of such emotion? It was shameful of Quinn to think such uncharitable thoughts of her brother, but she couldn't help it. Finn was not equipped to give Rachel the kind of life she deserved.

_And you are?_ a voice inside her head asked. _What are you going to do, take her back to a crumbling castle and hand her a hammer?_

Why, yes. If she wished it.

But other than the fact that the brunette responded to her kisses with a passion that matched her own, Quinn had no indication that Rachel harbored any deep feelings for her. True, Rachel had warned her about Finn, but that could be the actions of a guilty conscience. It didn't mean that she would toss Finn aside for her. And it didn't mean Rachel would follow her back to Glenshea either.

Quinn had already sent word home to her grandmother telling her to begin the necessary repairs. She wasn't about to allow Finn to stand in the way of them either. Mr. Chumley had assured her that barring any unforeseeable circumstances, the accounts would soon be changed over into her name.

Which brought her back to why she was in her brother's room to begin with. She had only twelve minutes left.

She crossed the carpet to the desk and began going through papers on the top. Nothing.

She searched the drawers. Nothing there either.

"Come on, Finn," Quinn muttered, closing the last drawer. "Reveal yourself." Only four minutes before she had to meet the others downstairs.

Then she spotted it. The wastepaper basket actually had sheets of parchment in it. Quinn grabbed one and held it up to the lamp so she could read. It was a rough draft of a letter.

_Dear Mr. MacCormack:_

_I am writing to you as the executor of the estate of the late Phillip Pierce, Duke of Brahm…"_

Quinn's temper surged. "What a liar!" she seethed. Only her brother would dare write to the clergyman in Quinn's hometown and pretend to be someone else.

_It is of utmost importance for the settlement of the late duke's will that I receive a copy of the certificate of marriage between him and one Judith Fabray, believed to have been married by you in September of 1795…."_

Believed to have been married? They _were _married! Quinn had a copy of the certificate herself. Her mother had kept it, right along with a copy of her birth certificate. Finn could have saved himself an awful lot of trouble if he had just asked Quinn to produce proof of her legitimacy.

A door closed down the hall. Startled, Quinn checked her watch. Blast it! She was late.

Smoothing the paper on the desktop, she folded it into a small square and slipped it inside her purse. She might need it later, just in case Finn did manage to stir up trouble.

Quinn was just about to leave when she spotted another slip of paper sticking out of a book on top of Finn's desk. Quickly, carefully, she opened the pages and lifted the parchment to the light.

_My Dear Lord Finn. I trust you have not forgotten that I have in my possession your vowels for the amount of £5,000. Please reply in writing as to when you might be able to settle this debt._

A gambling debt? Five thousand pounds was a lot of money to owe someone. And it wasn't the only such letter hidden within the book. There were several others of a similar nature, only the amounts ranged from smaller amounts to one of almost ten thousand pounds—more than most people earned in an entire year. In fact, the total of all of her brother's debts could feed and clothe every one of Quinn's tenants for several years.

So this was why her brother wanted the title so badly. It wasn't purely out of filial devotion. He needed the income that came with it. Lord only knew how many other debts Finn had. Was it possible he couldn't pay them all, even with his generous inheritance? If so, it would certainly explain his increasing animosity toward Quinn.

She tucked the notes back into the book and closed it, making certain it was just the way she had found it. This requires some further investigation, but it shouldn't be too difficult to discover how deeply her brother was in debt.

Quinn checked the clock sitting on the mantle above Finn's fireplace. Blast! If she didn't hurry, someone might very well come looking for her.

She went to the door and opened it a notch. All clear.

Slipping out into the hall, she tugged on her blouse and skirt to get the wrinkles out and strode toward the stairs. She couldn't wait to show Rachel what she had found. Quinn couldn't wait to see her again.

Not a day went by that she didn't think of the brunette. It had been two days since Quinn had last seen her and she had felt the loss painfully. She didn't really care for London and all its hustle and bustle. Rachel had been the bright spot in the entire trip.

So to pass the days, she had spent hours in her father's study, reading over the books for the estates that Quinn now owned. Her mother's money had helped her father become a fantastically wealthy man. Pride had kept Quinn's family from telling Phillip how much their own circumstances had been lowered, and from accepting repayment when it was offered.

There was such a thing as too much pride.

Brittany and Finn were in the drawing room when she entered.

"You're late," Finn remarked, with a glance at his pocket watch. Why was he making such a great show of flashing the watch around? Then Quinn realized the watch had been their father's and Finn wanted her to notice.

"Lovely watch," she remarked.

Finn smiled smugly. "It is, isn't it? It was Father's."

"I know. I have a gold one almost exactly like it at home. He had the date of his marriage to my mother engraved on it." Why she felt the need to make the dig, she wasn't certain. Quinn shouldn't be giving her brother more reasons to despise her, but Quinn couldn't help it. She hated that Finn thought himself so much better than her.

Finn's smiled faded. "We should be going."

"What about your mother?" Carole hadn't joined them yet.

"She's not coming," Brittany informed her with a sad smile. "She said she's not ready to face society just yet. Rachel has agreed to chaperone me in her stead."

Her reply shocked Quinn somewhat—not that Carole didn't feel like going out so soon after the death of her husband, but that Rachel would act as chaperone to Brittany. Why, the two girls were practically the same age! But Rachel was engaged to be married, and that made a difference in the eyes of society.

"And, of course, you will be there to chaperone us all," her sister chirped.

That was even more startling than her previous remark. Quinn was used to looking after her land and tenants, but being responsible for a family was something altogether different. And she was responsible for Carole and Brittany—even Finn. It was her duty.

So what was she going to do with Finn, then? Even more daunting was what to do with the scores of suitors Brittany was sure to attract. They would be coming to her with marriage proposals. How the devil was she supposed to deal with that?

"Quinn? Are you unwell?"

Quinn gazed up into her sister's worried face and smiled. "I'm fine. I just realized that I'm going to have to deal with all the young men who fall madly in love with you. I'm terrified."

Brittany giggled. "Finn will help you. Won't you, Finn?"

Finn's nod was sharp. "Certainly. I won't have you married off to just anyone." His jaw was tight as his challenging gaze met Quinn's.

"We're in perfect agreement," Quinn replied, smiling at Finn's surprise. Quinn wondered for a moment, if it weren't for the title, if it weren't for the all the animosity, if she and her brother might have been friends.

"I've never had a sister," Quinn continued with a warm glance at Brittany. "I fear I'm going to need all the help I can get."

Brittany hugged her arm. "You have no idea."

Quinn laughed.

Clearing his throat, Finn consulted his watch again. "We really must be on our way. I told Rachel we would come for her at quarter past. We're going to be late."

And Finn hated to be late almost as much as he hated clutter, Quinn would bet.

The butler met them in the foyer with their outerwear. Taking her shawl, Quinn thanked the elderly man and waited for her siblings before exiting to the carriage. She told herself it was only polite, but a part of her knew the truth. After finding that letter in Finn's room, she wanted to keep her brother where she could see him.

* * *

Rachel had never been more uncomfortable in her life.

The Pierce carriage was large and roomy enough for four average-sized people to sit comfortably, but Finn was bigger than average. He had to remove his hat to keep it from getting crushed against the roof, which was a problem he always had when riding in a closed carriage. He couldn't stretch his legs out because Quinn and Brittany were in the way, and he had to keep his arms tucked in close around him just to give Rachel breathing room.

Obviously he was uncomfortable as well, but Rachel's discomfort stemmed not so much from a lack of room, but from her keen awareness of the woman sitting across from her, and the wish that she was in Brittany's seat instead of sitting next to Finn.

No, if Rachel were sitting next to Quinn it would be impossible to keep from touching her. Perhaps it was just as well, for how could Rachel touch her and still hide her feelings from Finn?

But sitting across from Quinn was no easier. It made it difficult to pay attention to conversation—to anything other than her, if truth be told. Rachel stared at the blonde's shoes, at the flowing light blue silk of her skirt. Skirts and blouses were becoming more and more fashionable evening attire, but only a woman with her title could get away with wearing them at one of Lady Markby's gatherings. The viscountess was very big on old-school formality.

She tried staring at Quinn's chest, to avoid looking at her face, but all she could think about was how soft and warm it had felt beneath her hands that night they had kissed in the garden. Warmth flooded her cheeks and she lifted her gaze.

Quinn was watching her with an expression so intense Rachel found it difficult to breathe.

Oh it was awful, this desperate pounding of her heart, the quickness of her breath. Awful and fierce and oh so very sweet! She both dreaded and looked forward to it. It felt as though a thousand butterflies had been released inside her chest and the feeling made her panicked and overjoyed at the same time.

She opened her mouth to speak, knowing that if they were going to stare at each other they should at least say something so Finn and Brittany wouldn't notice their strange behavior.

"Have you met Lady Markby before, Your Grace?" she asked.

"Yes," Quinn replied in the same bland tone Rachel had used. "I've had that pleasure."

"You won't think it's a pleasure after this evening," Brittany joined in cheerfully. "She will try to have you married to one of her daughters before the night is out."

Rachel swallowed against the lump in her throat. Lady Markby's daughters were lovely, tall blondes with blue eyes and perfect figures—very fashionable. Rachel felt like a tiny, shapeless brown lump next to them.

Quinn had already danced with the youngest at a previous party. She hadn't seemed taken with her, but she wasn't the prettiest of the Markby daughters. The oldest, Kara, was. She wasn't attracted to women in that way, from what Rachel knew, but the brunette knew Quinn's title and inheritance could persuade her to reconsider in this instance. If Kara set her cap for Quinn and batted her big blue eyes at her, would Quinn fall under her spell like every young man seemed to?

Rachel couldn't bear to watch if she did.

Quinn raised a brow. Could the blonde see her anxiety?

"Lady Markby can try, but I believe I still have the final say in whom I marry." Something in her voice made Rachel's entire body flush with warmth. Her fear subsided somewhat.

"The Markby chits are fine-looking girls," Finn remarked. "And their looks are the least of their attributes, sister. They all have fine dowries too."

It was an innocent enough statement, but somehow Finn managed to make it sound like an insult.

"I have no need for more money," Quinn reminded him. Her voice was light, but her eyes were dark with emotion. Her expression was guarded while Finn's was goading. This, Rachel decided, was the difference between an adult and a child. Finn was a child.

He shrugged. "One never has enough money."

Rachel glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, an earlier suspicion returning. She had an impressive dowry as well. Was that her deciding virtue? That she could expand Finn's fortune?

"The only thing a person can never have too much of is common sense," Quinn replied dryly. Finn took the insult as he was meant to and flushed a dark red. Thankfully, he said nothing.

Poor Brittany glanced back and forth between her siblings in confusion. She had no idea what was going on but was very distressed by the situation.

"Why are the two of you being so hateful to each other?" she cried, her eyes filling with tears. "You're supposed to be brother and sister! Papa would hate to see you treating each other so badly."

Quinn's expression was sheepish. Since Quinn was sitting right beside her, she wrapped her left arm around Brittany's shoulders and pulled her against her chest. Finn reached forward and took both of her hands in his. For the first time since Quinn's arrival, the three of them looked like a family. Maybe there was hope for them yet.

Rachel watched in fascination as both Quinn and Finn apologized to Brittany. They fussed over her and teased her at their own expense until she smiled and was happy again. Rachel could only imagine what a difficult time her friend was going through. She had just lost her father, was trying to mourn him in the way he had requested—by not mourning him—and the bad feelings between her siblings would only make that loss worse.

They arrived at Lady Markby's Mayfair address at the same time a dozen other carriages did. The wait to climb out of the carriage and enter the house was longer than the actual drive as they sat in silence as the carriages ahead of them emptied and pulled away.

A footman opened the carriage door and assisted the ladies to the ground with Finn following behind.

The night air was cool and Rachel knew the breeze would be much welcomed as it drifted through Lady Markby's ballroom, especially since the lady had an annoying tendency to pack as many people as she could into her parties. They would be lucky if there was even room to breathe. And with that many people in one room, the odors one breathed weren't always pleasant, even less so when some of society had yet to embrace the fashion of regular bathing.

Quinn escorted Brittany, and Rachel had to pull back on Finn's arm so he would remember his place and allow his sisters to lead the way into the house. Finn seemed to have a hard time remembering that Quinn was the duchess and therefore she went first. Whether his faulty memory was intentional or not, Rachel didn't want to know.

Inside the mansion, footmen took their hats, coats, and shawls, and they made their way up the broad, winding staircase to where the ballroom was.

They were announced, and as heads turned to catch a glimpse of the new Duchess of Brahm, they stepped inside. Rachel felt Finn tense beside her. La, but it must sting to see his sister garner the attention he believed rightfully his.

They entered the ballroom. The chatter rose up like a dull roar around them, matching the sounds of the orchestra, hidden behind swaths of mauve gauze and silk in the far corner of the room. Ladies walked by dressed in the height of fashion, bright splashes of color in contrast to the gentlemen in formal black and white.

"It's beautiful." Brittany gasped, gazing around at the sparkling decorations that reflected the light from the countless chandeliers just as brightly as the glittering diamonds and gems adorning the two hundred guests.

"Not half so lovely as you and Miss Berry, sprite," Quinn replied with a grin. Rachel blushed, even though Quinn's words were meant to be taken lightly.

Finn glanced at her. "Are you all right, darling? You look rather flushed."

Rachel's blush deepened as she realized Quinn heard her brother's question. She had to know that her remark was what made the brunette pinken in the first place.

"I'm f-fine, thank you, Finn. It's a trifle warm in her, isn't it?"

"Would you like me to fetch you some lemonade?"

Rachel made a face. She would rather drink dishwater than Lady Markby's lemonade. It was even worse than that vile stuff they served at Almack's—if such a thing was possible. "No, thank you. I'll be fine."

Some of the concern left his expression, but Finn's gaze was still far more scrutinizing than Rachel liked. "Then you won't take offense if I leave you for a few moments to speak with an acquaintance?"

Offense? She would be glad to see him go, if only for five minutes so that she might collect herself.

"Of course not. Lady Brahm and Brittany will keep me company."

To his credit, Finn's expression didn't change when she referred to his sister by the title he so desperately wanted as his own. "I shall be back shortly. Save me the first waltz."

And then he was gone. And within minutes, a handsome young man came by to ask Quinn's permission to dance with Brittany and was granted his wish, leaving Rachel alone with the woman who had occupied her thoughts constantly for the past two days.

She couldn't think of anything to say, and just staring at the blonde made her feel like an idiot.

"I'm feeling a little overheated myself," Quinn remarked. "Would you care to take a walk to one of the windows, Miss Berry?"

Rachel glanced up. To one of the windows? Yes, that would be lovely. There was hardly anyone along that wall and it would be the most comfortable place to stand. It would also give them some privacy to talk while remaining in plain view of the entire room. Utterly proper behavior. Rachel wouldn't be tempted to let Quinn kiss her in front of a window.

"I would love to, Your Grace. Thank you."

They picked their way through the crowd easily, as everyone stepped out of Quinn's path. Whispers followed them across the room. Some remarked upon how the old duke had kept his daughter a secret. Others commented on how much she looked like her father. A few tittered over how beautiful she was. Rachel wanted to tell them to mind their own business, but she didn't.

When they had arrived safely at their destination, Quinn plucked two glasses of champagne off a passing footman's tray and handed her one. "I'm not much for alcohol," she explained, "but I hear drinking Mrs. Markby's lemonade is akin to taking one's life in one's hands."

Rachel laughed, enjoying the soft breeze that blew in through the open window, tickling the hair on her nape. "You heard correctly." She sipped the champagne. Bubbles tickled her nose.

"I found something tonight that you might find interesting."

Rachel met her gaze, all humor gone. "Oh, what?"

"A letter Finn wrote to the man who married my parents. He told the man he was our father's executor and that he needed a copy of their marriage certificate."

Rachel gasped. She had known what Finn was up to, but even she could not believe he would stoop to such a deception! "What—" She lowered her voice. "What are you going to do?"

Quinn shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing. All Finn is going to receive is proof that my parents were indeed married. I could have given them that. Once he discovers that they were wed, and long before my birth, he will have to give up this silly idea of proving me illegitimate."

She sounded so sure, so confident, but Rachel wasn't so convinced. Her fears from two nights ago came rushing back with frightening intensity. Finn would not give up so easily. She knew him well enough to know that for sure.

"I found out something else as well," Quinn murmured.

Good heavens, as though discovering her own brother wanted to prove her a fraud wasn't enough!

"What?" Rachel was amazed she could even manage to speak. As it was her voice sounded like a door on a rusty hinge.

Quinn steered her away from the window, as though worried someone might actually be on the other side listening.

"My brother has gambling debts. Rather _large _debts."

Rachel knew she shouldn't be surprised, but she was. Her blood turned to ice water in her veins. She knew it. She knew there had to be another reason why Finn was in such a hurry to marry her. She knew there had to be more to it than affection, and now she was fairly certain that her fortune was a big part of it. What kind of trouble was Finn in?

A shiver ran down her spine when she thought of some of the stories she had heard about men on the verge of financial ruin—or "dun territory," as many of the _ton_ referred to it.

"Be careful, Quinn," she said softly, laying a tentative hand on her sleeve. "If Finn truly is deeply in debt, he might become desperate." And desperate men did desperate things to achieve their goals.

Quinn smiled, a smile that made her heart ache. "Rachel, he can't do anything. Trust me."

Rachel nodded. She could do that. She could trust Quinn if not her own fiancé.

* * *

Outside, in the cool night air, Finn Pierce stood deep in the shadows near an open window. An inch of ash clung to the tip of the cigar he had forgotten about the minute he had heard his name, spoken in his sister's voice, float out the window toward him.

Too bad they had moved away from the window. He hadn't been able to hear their entire conversation. But he had heard some of it, and that was enough.

So Quinn had gone snooping, had she? Finn would have to be more careful in the future. As soon as he returned home, he would destroy the other letters in the wastebin of his room. He would destroy any others he did not send from now on as well.

He wasn't all that surprised that his sister was suspicious of him. As much as Finn hated it, they were related. It only made sense that they would have some kind of understanding of each other. Quinn knew Finn resented her, just as Finn knew Quinn had fallen in love with Rachel. No one else seemed to notice, but to Finn, it was as plain as porridge. Quinn wanted Rachel as badly as Finn needed the title.

As for Rachel, he supposed her duplicity would hurt more if he actually loved her, but instead her lack of loyalty only made him angry—and sad. He would have thought better of her, that she wouldn't fall for a pair of bright eyes and an accent quite so easily. It hardly mattered, however. He needed Rachel. He needed her fortune if he was going to pay his debts and maintain his lifestyle.

He hadn't meant for the situation to slip so far out of his control. He never set out to lose so much money; he just kept playing, hoping his luck would get better. There was always the chance that he might win and so he kept betting—on horses, dogs, boxy, anything. Sometimes he won, but when he lost…

He wouldn't be in this mess if not for his father's betrayal. Finn had spent his entire life expecting to be duke. Everyone expected it—especially his creditors. They were more than willing to let him run up vast bills for boots and coats and trousers when they thought he was going to inherit the title. Now they weren't so keen on extending his bills. Now they wanted money. He had even gone to a moneylender to borrow enough to keep the vultures happy. Now he needed even more money to pay the lender's high interest.

His inheritance from his father would pay them, but it would leave him nothing to live off of. That was why he needed to marry Rachel. With her dowry and a share of her father's business he would be able to continue living in the style he required. He would save his reputation and keep the moneylenders from coming after their pound of flesh.

He and Rachel's mother had an agreement. Rachel would marry him and there was very little Quinn could do about that. Finn didn't doubt Rachel would do as she was expected. She was a good girl, if naïve. All he had to do was spend some more time with her, charm her a bit, and her heart would be his again.

But what to do about his sister? There was no way Quinn deserved that title more than he did. Just because she was the oldest did not mean she was cut out to be the Duchess of Brahm. Finn had been preparing his whole life to be the duke and no…no _stranger_ was going to take it away from him.

But first things first. He would have to destroy all the evidence of what he had been up to. And then he would have to think of a new plan.

A new plan to get rid of his sister.

* * *

**A/N: Dunn, duuuunnnn, duuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnn! Oh, no! Darn that dastardly Finn! What is he going to do? "Get rid of his sister" how? Will Quinn (and Rachel) be safe? Find out next time! :)**

**I hope you guys liked this chapter :) I'll be back with chapter 8 as soon as I can! Bye! :D**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Salutations, everyone! :)**

**Phew, so sorry for the delay. You know...life. Some of it completely awesome, some of it not so much. lol. Anywho, new chapter, yippee! :)**

**I haven't had time to get around to sending PM's to everyone who reviewed, but I will do that just as soon as I can. I was going to do it before I posted this chapter, but I figured you'd rather have a new chapter and wait a bit longer for responses than having responses but no new chapter lol :) **

**Oh! I've had a couple people ask me/bring concerns up about the "angsty-ness" of this story. All I can say is, rest assured. I do not do "angst." By "angst", I mean the severely depressing stuff that makes you want to cry and all the stuff that goes with it. The tags for this story are "Drama/Romance". So. It will be "dramatic" in the sense of "serious". However, while there will be some "dramatic" things happening throughout the rest of this story, I like to think that there is an overlying layer of hope and optimism that "angst" does not possess. I read fan fiction and write fan fiction for escapism, so the people I want to end up together will. :) So...yeah, there you go! :)**

**Anonymous reviewers! :)**

_**anon -**_** Thanks for the review! :) Haha, I'll take that as a compliment ;) Although it _does_ suck for Quinn and Rachel that he's so perceptive lol. And you may be right about Quinn needing to be more cautious where Finn is concerned...But, then again, maybe not ;) Hehe, anywho, thanks again and I hope you like this chapter! :)**

_**Guest (1) -**_** Thank you for the review! Lol, yes, I suppose that _would _be simple. However, Quinn can't just _give _him the title. It just doesn't work that way. Also, I _highly _doubt Finn's greedy ass would stop at just having the title. He'd probably still want Rachel just so he could have even _more_. AND! Really, do we want to give Finn everything he wants? I don't. lol. Also! The solution you propose would make this story, like, exponentially shorter and anticlimactic, I think, and I'd much rather go through all the loops and twists and turns. Much more interesting, in my humble opinion :) But, in any case, you are correct that that could be a simple solution, if it were possible ;) Thanks again! And I hope you like the new chapter, even though it's not exactly "simple" lol! :D**

_**Guest (2) -**_** Thanks! I'm really glad you're liking the story so much so far! I hope the rest doesn't disappoint :)**

_**jock -**_** First of all, thanks, as always! :) And, haha! Yeah...While Finn might not be as idiotic as he is on the show, he still underestimates Quinn (and Rachel), so he's still dumb in my book lol ;) And yay! I'm glad you're still liking the Faberry :) MUCH more of them in this chapter :) And a little bit of Quinn/Brittany stuff too, so yippee skippee! ;) Anywho, thanks again for your review, and I hope you like the new chapter :)**

**_joey - _Thanks for the review! So sorry for not updating in over a month! I hope you like this chapter! :)**

****NOTE** The portrayal of Finn/my hatred of him does not reflect my feelings toward Cory Monteith or his drug-induced demise. Although, if you ask me (which no one did), he was a grown man of 31 who knew the terrible mistakes he was making and yet could(would?) not stop, so I'm not sure how badly I can feel _for_ _him _himself, but it is still sad because he was so young and he had beaten addiction before and had such a promising future. My heart and prayers go out to his family and friends (and fans), who are suffering right now and struggling through this difficult time. In conclusion, the point is that I still hate the _character _of Finn, and I hope his portrayal doesn't offend anyone due to recent events in real life. I mean no disrespect to Cory Monteith, only Finn Hudson and the so-called "writers" of _Glee._ :)**

**Now, without further ado, the chapter! :)**

* * *

Her brother was suspicious. Quinn could tell by the way Finn looked at her as he crossed the floor to where she and Rachel stood. Finn's "brief" conversation had turned into an hour. It was very shabby behavior of him to leave Rachel so long.

"Please forgive me for being gone so long, my dear," Finn said, taking Rachel's hand. Quinn's instinct was to push him away, to tell him not to lay a finger on her, but Finn was still Rachel's betrothed and any interference from Quinn would only cause trouble. "Something of an urgent nature has arisen and I have to leave."

"Leave?" Rachel echoed, her voice high with surprise and disappointment. And for one foolish moment, Quinn wondered if Rachel was sorry to leave her, or if it was Finn she would miss. "But we just arrived."

Finn's shrewd, dark gaze met Quinn's. "There is no need for all of us to leave. I'm sure Quinn wouldn't mind remaining with you and Brittany."

"Of course I wouldn't," Quinn replied, holding her brother's stare. "Do what you must do, brother." Why did everything she and Finn say to each other come out sounding like threats or warnings? It was stupid and childish of them.

"I shall see you tomorrow then, Rachel dear." Finn brushed a quick kiss across Rachel's cheek and Quinn's jealousy rose. Her brother was goading her, she was sure of it. Finn wanted to make her angry. He was telling his sister that she might have the title, but he had Rachel, and that Quinn had better keep her hands to herself where Rachel was concerned.

Not a chance.

"Don't stay out too late," Finn said softly to Rachel. "You know how you get when you're overtired."

Rachel's expression clearly said no, she didn't know how she got when she was "overtired" and that she didn't think Finn knew either, but she didn't press the subject. "I won't. Good night, Finn."

When he was gone, Rachel turned to Quinn. "What do you suppose he's up to?"

"I haven't a clue," Quinn replied honestly. "And I really don't care. All I know is that I can finally tell you how beautiful you look this evening without worrying about my brother overhearing or seeing your reaction."

Her reaction, of course, was a deep, rosy blush. Rachel glanced away. "You really shouldn't say such things."

"Why not? It's true. You are beautiful." Quinn fought the urge to stroke her cheek, but if any of the dancers floating by them, or any of the numerous bystanders, happened to see, it would cause a scandal, and she had no desire to drag her family or Rachel into a scandal just because she couldn't keep her hands to herself.

"Do you really think so?"

Quinn nodded, her heart touched by the uncertainty in the brunette's voice. Did Finn never tell her how lovely she was? Lord, she had gone from girl who had never wanted to marry, to a woman who had found someone she could gladly spend the rest of her life with—and it was all because of Rachel. She was more than just beautiful to the blonde. Rachel was the only person in the world as far as Quinn was concerned. It didn't matter that she was English.

"Dance with me." Quinn didn't bother waiting for her response before leading her by the hand onto the dance floor. It was waltz—the only way Quinn could hold her and not having tongues wagging about it the next day.

Rachel's hand went to her bicep. One of Quinn's hands went to Rachel's waist; the other caught her free hand and lifted it high. Even though she wanted nothing more than to crush Rachel against her, Quinn made sure there were the required twelve inches between their bodies.

Stupid rule.

"I have finished the Byron," she told Rachel once they were caught up in the flood of other dancers.

Her eyes lit up. In the soft light of the chandeliers, they were almost black. "Really? Did you enjoy it?"

"Very much. He's very…passionate." Passionate didn't even begin to describe some of Byron's work, but it certainly stirred the senses.

Another blush. "Yes. Byron is no stranger to the stronger emotions."

Quinn didn't bother to comment that Byron's "stronger emotions" were what had led to his self-exile from England two years ago. Lord Byron was now living somewhere on the eastern side of Europe, indulging in whatever sins he saw fit. Whatever the man chose to do with his personal life was his business. Quinn might not agree with it, but it didn't change the fact that Byron was still a gifted poet.

"I love poetry," Rachel admitted. "Usually, most girls my age can't stand it. They would much rather read one of those 'horrid' novels with young girls being chased by dark and sinister villains." She made a face. "I would much rather read about love than such nonsense."

Quinn smiled. She would have to take the brunette's word for it. She had never read a book like the ones Rachel had described.

"Have you ever ready any poems by Robbie Burns?" As she said the name, Quinn's accent slipped into a more Scottish burr.

Rachel shook her head, smiling. "I don't believe so, but I have heard Brittany mention the name before. I take it he's Scottish?"

Now it was Quinn's turn to blush. "He is, yes."

"Recite something he's written," Rachel pleaded, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Staring down into her dark, fathomless eyes, there was one of Burns' poems that came to mind so quickly that Quinn was almost frightened of it. It was foolish to feel so much for one person so soon after meeting her, but she couldn't help it. She was Rachel's to command.

"'Oh, my Luve is like a red, red rose,/That's newly sprung in June./O, my Luve is like a melodie,/That's sweetly played in tune.'"

Rachel's smile grew. Whether it was because of the poem or the thickness of Quinn's accent, the blonde wasn't sure. "That's lovely."

"There's more," Quinn said before she lost her nerve. "'As fair art thou, my bonie lass/So deep in love am I,/And I will love you still, my dear,/Till a' the seas gang dry.'"

Rachel's forehead creased into a frown. "What is he saying? What do 'bonny' and 'gang' mean?"

Quinn cleared her throat. "_Bonny_ means beautiful and _gang _means go. He is telling her how beautiful he thinks she is and that he will love her until all the seas go dry."

Eyes wide, Rachel stared at her. "Oh. Oh, that's beautiful!"

Quinn couldn't kiss her, couldn't touch her outside of the movements dictated by the dance, so Quinn had to content herself with tightening her fingers around Rachel's hand and pulling her a little bit closer. As it was, there was still a good six inches between them.

"That's the way it should be, don't you think?" Quinn asked, her throat tight with emotion as their gazes held. "Love should last forever."

Rachel's fingers tightened on the blonde's arm as a delicate pink crept up her neck and cheeks. "Yes," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the music. "Till all the seas go dry."

It was hardly a declaration, but Quinn felt as though it was. She was certain that Rachel felt the same way for her that she did for the brunette. Rachel wasn't the kind of girl who would kiss someone she didn't care deeply for. In fact, she would wager that aside from Finn, she was the only person Rachel had ever kissed. And she would be willing to go a step further and bet that Finn hadn't kissed her the way she had.

Quinn hadn't kissed anyone the way she had kissed Rachel either, for that matter—with such intense emotion, with her heart.

It was easy to imagine herself and Rachel spending evenings by the fire at Castle Fabray, reading poetry aloud or simply talking—and kissing. She could see Rachel working beside her to restore the castle to its former splendor. And she could imagine getting old with her, even raising a family.

Rachel scared the sense right out of her and Quinn didn't mind one bit. Either this was true love or she was going mad. Either way, she didn't care.

They danced once more that evening and that was all.

Any more would have been improper and fodder for the gossip mill. Still, it was frustrating not being able to do what they wanted, not being able to let on that they wanted each other.

Even more frustrating was watching Rachel dance with other people. Did it bother her watching Quinn dance with other people? The blonde couldn't imagine her having anything to be jealous about. The few girls she danced with, when she wasn't keeping an eye on Brittany, spent more time giggling than talking. Her cousin Santana would probably like them better than she did.

Finally, it was time to leave, and Quinn was glad for it. At least in the carriage she could have Rachel almost entirely to herself. Brittany looked so exhausted that Quinn doubted she would even stay awake for the drive home. It wasn't the same as being truly alone with Rachel, but it would do. It would have to.

They left the ballroom ahead of most of the others and managed to get their wraps before the rush. It might be June, almost the end of the Season, but no gentleman or lady would dream of attending a social function without the ladies wearing an outer garment of some kind and the gentlemen in top hats.

Even without the wait for their garments, though, they had to weave their way through a crowd gathering in the foyer, out the door, and down the steps to where the carriage sat waiting.

Quinn made sure the carriage driver handed both Brittany and Rachel up then step first and then Quinn, although it was customary for the woman of highest rank to be seated first. When Quinn climbed into the carriage, she found the other two girls sitting on one side, leaving the other for her. Blast! The blonde had stupidly thought that Rachel would sit with her, but Brittany would definitely take notice of such a thing. Or at least she might if she could keep her eyes open.

It was slow going for the first fifteen minutes as the carriage got behind a few others as it crept down the drive.

"Did you have a good time?" Quinn asked her sister.

"I did," she replied with a tired smile. "My feet are sore from dancing."

Quinn grinned. "I suspect the house will be overrun with suitors fighting for your attention tomorrow."

"I doubt it." Her sister stifled a yawn behind one gloved hand. "I'm so sleepy, it shan't matter anyway. One look at the bags under my eyes and they will all run screaming for their mamas."

"Why don't you stretch out?" Rachel suggested. "At this rate, it's going to be a while before we arrive home. I can sit beside the duchess and you can nap until you get home."

The light in the carriage was so dim that Quinn couldn't tell if Rachel was blushing or not, and she didn't care. Quinn could kiss her for being so sneaky!

"Do you mind?" Brittany asked, turning to her sister.

"Certainly not," she replied, hoping she didn't sound as eager as she felt. "You go ahead and rest. There is plenty of room for the both of us over here."

Smiling her thanks, Brittany lifted her feet onto the seat as Rachel stood. Within seconds, Brittany was curled up against the padded cushions with her eyes closed and Rachel was settling in beside Quinn. Unlike the trip to the ball, when Quinn had taken pains to make sure her legs didn't brush Rachel's, the blonde made no effort to keep from touching her.

Their legs pressed together from hip to ankle and their arms from wrist to shoulder. With a discreet flip of her shawl, Quinn was able to cover their hands as she entwined her fingers with Rachel's.

Her heart hammered in her chest, her mouth was dry, and a mixture of joy and anxiety danced in her stomach. It was thrilling, this daring secrecy between them. Quinn felt as though every hair on her body was standing on end while a thousand pinpricks of excitement dotted her skin. Unable to do anything else for fear that Brittany might open her eyes and see them, Quinn contented herself with stroking Rachel's fingers. Rubbing Rachel's palm with the pad of her thumb, Quinn caressed the length of her hand, which fit so perfectly in her own.

They sat in silence as the carriage rolled along the cobblestone streets. They didn't dare even to glance at each other. In fact, anyone looking at them wouldn't think that they even noticed each other, except that beneath Quinn's shawl, their hands and fingers were indulging in the slow, soft kisses their lips couldn't dare share.

All too soon they pulled up the drive to Rachel's house.

Their gazes locked as their fingers slid apart. Funny how Quinn felt the loss of Rachel's touch almost as keenly as if she had lost something precious and dear.

"Thank you for seeing me home," Rachel said, her voice soft.

"I'll walk you to the door," Quinn whispered so as not to wake her slumbering sister.

After the driver opened the door and helped Quinn out and into the cool night, Quinn held out her hand to assist Rachel down from the carriage. Aware of the coachman watching, Quinn instructed him to take the carriage farther up the lane and turn around so they wouldn't have to do it as they were leaving.

With the driver gone, there was no one to see Quinn pull Rachel into the shadows and kiss her until they were both breathless and dizzy.

"I have been wanting to do that all evening," Quinn confessed, releasing the brunette.

Rachel's eyes fluttered open and she smiled. "I am so very glad you got what you wanted."

Quinn brushed a tendril of chestnut hair back from Rachel's face with her fingers. Her cheek was as soft as velvet. Was it just Rachel who had skin so delicate? "Will I see you tomorrow?"

She ran a hand down the buttons of the blonde's blouse. Rachel seemed as eager to touch her as Quinn was to touch the brunette. How could Quinn not be eager? No one had ever felt as good as Rachel did. "Carole has invited Mama and I for luncheon."

Quinn smiled. Even the idea of spending more than an hour in the company of Shelby Berry couldn't dim the joy at the prospect of seeing Rachel again.

"I shall count the minutes," the blonde teased as she reluctantly drew back into the moonlight. "Pleasant dreams."

Her smile was bright and warm. "I will be dreaming of you."

That she even said such a daring thing made Quinn's heart slam against her ribs with joy. "Good night, then."

"Good night."

Quinn watched as Rachel entered the house and closed the door, and then she walked back into the lane to wait for the carriage. She saw the coachman's light in the near distance and heard the horses' hooves as it drew nearer.

Suddenly, something struck her from behind. Pain exploded behind her eyes, knocking her to her hands and knees on the gravel. Before she could stagger to her feet, a kick to her stomach sent her sprawling to the ground, gasping for breath.

"Get 'er up," a man's voice commanded above her head. "We 'aven't much time."

There were two of them that she knew of. One grabbed each of her arms and hauled her to her feet. Quinn lunged at one, striking him in the face with her elbow. The man reeled back, releasing Quinn's arm. Quinn drew back a fist to strike out at her other assailant, but she was caught by a blow to the jaw that made her head snap back like a broken twig. Another blow caught her in the eye.

So now she knew that there were more than two attackers.

A feminine shriek pierced the air. Quinn and her assailants froze. It was Brittany. With her one good eye, Quinn could see her hanging out the carriage window, screaming at the men to leave her sister alone. God love her, she looked more angry than scared.

It that wasn't enough to frighten off her attackers, the sight of the Pierce coachman waving a pistol in one hand and a whip in the other was. The man still holding Quinn gave her a sharp shove and took off running.

How Quinn managed to remain standing she didn't know. What she did know was that Brittany had jumped out of the carriage and was pounding on the door of the Berry home. Any minute Rachel and her parents would see her in all her battered glory. She didn't want Rachel to see her like this.

But she wasn't certain she wanted to return home either—if for no other reason than the niggling suspicion that the person responsible for this violence was her own brother.

* * *

"Did you see their faces?" Rachel asked as she wrung water from a cloth into a basin.

Quinn winced as Rachel applied the cloth to the gash on the back of her head. "No. It was too dark and I'm afraid I was too busy trying to keep them from killing me to notice what they looked like."

Rachel's hands shook as she cleaned the wound. Thank heavens it wasn't deep. Still, it had bled quite a bit and the sight of Quinn being held up by the coachman, all that blood on the back of her head, matting her blonde hair, had scared her senseless. In that split second Rachel realized that her life would be completely empty without Quinn in it. How had the blonde come to mean so much to her in such a short time?

Rachel was loathe to rouse any of the servants, and her mother hadn't the stomach to nurse such injuries, so that left Rachel to tend to Quinn.

She stood between the blonde's knees as Quinn sat on the drawing room sofa. Her forehead pressed against Rachel's ribs as she dabbed salve on the top and back of Quinn's head. They were alone in the room and Rachel rubbed Quinn's back with her free hand. Even through the layers of clothing, Quinn felt strong and warm against her palm.

"What do you think they wanted?" she asked as the blonde lifted her head. "Money?"

Quinn shook her head, then grimaced as though the simple movement hurt. "I don't know. If they simply wanted money, why not take your jewelry as well?" She raised her eyes to Rachel's. "They said they didn't have much time. I think they were sent to hurt—possibly even abduct—me."

Rachel scowled. "Who would do such an awful thing?"

Quinn looked at her as though she thought the answer were obvious. "Who do you know who wants me out of his way?"

Rachel was horrified. No. Quinn had to be wrong. "Surely you don't think Finn was behind this!"

Quinn caught the brunette around the waist before she could pull away. "I don't want to believe that he could be capable of such evil, but don't you find it rather convenient that I should be attacked in your drive when the only person who knew I was taking you home left the ball hours before we did? He had ample time to set it up."

Rachel slumped into the blonde's lap, too shocked and tired to care how improper her behavior was. "I can't believe it, but it makes perfect sense." She stared at Quinn, not caring if her fear was written all over her face. "Quinn, you have to go back to Scotland."

Her jaw dropped. "I beg your pardon?"

Twisting herself to face the blonde, Rachel gripped her shoulders with both hands. "You're not safe here." Quinn wasn't safe and neither was she—not if Finn was as mad as Quinn suspected. "You must leave."

"Oh no." Her tone was firm. "I'm not leaving you here alone with him."

"But he's not trying to kill me!" Rachel shook her as hard as she could. Didn't Quinn understand the danger she was in? Finn wouldn't dare hurt her—not while he still needed her—but Quinn stood between him and something he desperately wanted.

The thought of Finn harming Quinn made her rigid with fear. And what would happen if Finn succeeded in getting rid of his sister? Would he decide his fiancé was just as expendable?

Quinn smiled. She couldn't possibly find this _amusing!_ Reaching up, Quinn caught the brunette's wrists in her hands and eased them from her shoulders. "And we don't know for sure if he is trying to kill me either. It's quite possible that he's just trying to scare me. For what reason, I'm not sure, but I intend to find out."

Rachel shook her head, her fear rapidly becoming panic. "No, you can't confront him. That will only make things worse!"

Quinn raised a brow. "I'm not afraid of him. I refuse to run."

"So you're just going to let him send his henchmen after you until they beat you to death, is that it?" She tried to stand, but Quinn held her firmly.

"Rachel, Rachel," she shushed in a soothing tone. "I cannot believe that my own brother wants me dead. I think he simply wants to scare me, force me to run so he can make it look like I had something to hide and try to prove my parents' marriage false."

Could she possibly be so trusting? "Quinn, he's your heir! If anything happens to you, Finn inherits the title! I'd say he has every reason to want you dead."

Quinn's expression hardened, her jaw taking on a very stubborn set. "I can't believe he would go that far. I would much rather believe that he suspects there is something going on between us and wants to warn me away from you."

Rachel didn't particularly find one possibility more comforting than the other. "Then we will have to avoid each other as much as possible. We have to stop caring about each other." Yes, that was it. She could do it if it would keep Quinn safe.

Quinn looked at her with eyes so warm and loving she wanted to cry. "You might as well ask the sun not to rise." Raising her tan hands to her mouth, Quinn kissed her knuckles. "Rachel, I'm not going to give in to Finn, no matter what his intentions are—if it's even him behind this attack." She squeezed her fingers. "I would really rather you supported me than fought me on this. I need you."

Rachel's heart melted at her words. How could she refuse her? In truth, Rachel thought it would be difficult to refuse her anything. If Quinn said she wanted the world on a platter, Rachel would try to get it for her.

Rachel loved her. Loved her so completely, intensely. It was the most incredible thing—to realize it so clearly as she had. And even though it set her nerves on edge and made it difficult for her to sleep at night, Rachel wouldn't trade her life now for anything in the world.

Rachel pulled one hand free of her grip and pushed her golden hair back from her forehead. "Promise me you won't do anything foolish."

Quinn's expression was one of such surprise she almost laughed. "Me? Do something foolish?" She paused as if in thought. "I've never done anything foolish in my life. Well, hardly anything," she said, looking at Rachel meaningfully.

Rachel moved into her arms, not caring that it would be scandalous if they were caught in such a position. She loved being able to feel Quinn's warmth against her, loved being so close she could feel the rise and fall of Quinn's chest. She seemed so delicate and yet so strong. Quinn made her feel safe and capable of anything just by being near.

"Were you really worried about me?" Quinn slid her free hand around Rachel's hip to cradle her back, lifting the smaller girl higher on her lap.

Rachel's gaze snapped up to hers. "Of course. I was terrified."

She smiled. "Good."

She swatted the blonde on the shoulder.

"Ow!" Quinn cried.

Rachel's heart jumped into her throat. "Oh no! I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"No." Quinn grinned. "I just wanted to make you feel bad."

Rachel couldn't help laughing. "You're awful!"

"Kiss me," Quinn commanded, her voice whisper soft and full of laughter.

Rachel did kiss her. Sitting up, she lowered her head to Quinn's. It felt odd to have the blonde's face beneath hers rather than above, almost as if she was in control of how their lips touched and Quinn was at her mercy. Quinn's mouth was warm beneath hers, both demanding and gentle, and Rachel kissed her with all of the love she had in her heart and then some.

The choice was made. She didn't even have to think about it. There was no contest. Quinn was the one she wanted. Quinn was the one she loved. It remained only for Rachel to find the right way to tell her. But first they had to deal with Finn.

Quinn's hand rubbed her back, pulling her closer. Eyes closed, Rachel gave herself up to the sensations the kiss offered. Nothing else existed when Quinn held her in her arms. She wished they could stay like this forever.

The sound of her mother's voice sent her wish up in a puff of smoke. She jerked out of Quinn's arms and just managed to jump to her feet before the door flew open to reveal her mother's thin, nightcapped form.

"Aren't you finished yet?" Shelby demanded, eyes averted. The only reason she had left them alone was because neither she nor Brittany could stand the sight of blood. "I have tried to keep Lady Brittany company, but the poor girl's falling asleep on the sofa."

"I'm done now, Mama," Rachel replied, surprised that her voice wasn't shaking. "You can have the duchess' carriage summoned."

She felt Quinn rise to her feet behind her. "Thank you very much for your kind hospitality, Mrs. Berry. I'm in your debt."

Even her mother wasn't a hard enough person to withstand that charming tone of Quinn's, especially when she let her accent deepen to a softer, huskier Scottish timbre. Rachel much preferred it when Quinn spoke in her native burr. In fact, she had a sneaking suspicion that Quinn tried to sound more English in order to fit in.

"You're welcome, Your Grace. I am glad your injuries weren't serious."

It was all Rachel could do to keep her mouth from falling open. Her mother actually sounded sincere! Was it possible she was warming up to Quinn? Or did she also suspect Finn's involvement and didn't approve of such tactics? Rachel couldn't be certain. And honestly, she didn't care so long as her mother continued to show Quinn the respect she deserved.

She walked Quinn and Brittany to the door. Poor Brittany could hardly keep her eyes open, but she clung to her sister as though she were afraid someone might try to take Quinn from her. Poor thing. Did Quinn have any idea how she filled that empty spot in Brittany's life? She looked so much like their father, and being older, and so reliable, Quinn readily stepped into the void left by their father's death.

Rachel couldn't help wondering if Carole and Brittany didn't fill an emptiness inside Quinn as well. Quinn smiled at her sleepy sister, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders to keep her upright.

"Thank you for everything, Miss Berry," she said, back to pretending there was nothing between them. "We look forward to seeing you again tomorrow."

Rachel smiled, the perfect picture of ladylike composure. The perfect fake. "I'm afraid it is tomorrow already, Your Grace. I shall see you again in a mere few hours."

Warmth flared briefly in Quinn's gaze. "I shall count the minutes."

Rachel smiled. It was all she could do not to grin like an idiot. "Good night, Brittany. Good night, Your Grace."

Closing the door behind them as they left, Rachel slipped the bolt into place and prepared to extinguish the wall lamp.

"I certainly hope you're not being foolish enough to fall in love with her," her mother remarked from behind her.

Rachel whirled around, her heart pounding. But instead of panic, she felt joy. Pure, sweet happiness that neither her mother nor Finn could destroy. "No, Mama. I'm not falling in love with her."

_I already am in love with her._

* * *

"Idiots!"

Pacing the length of his room, Finn crumpled the note in his hand. The men he'd hired had failed. Not only had they failed to abduct his sister, but they had also beaten her—something Finn hadn't at all intended. All he wanted was Quinn out of the way. All he wanted was for his sister to give him the title.

He had thought that maybe a few threats would do the trick. All he had planned to do was threaten Quinn's precious Scottish kinsmen, forcing his honorable, disgustingly loyal sister to do whatever Finn wanted.

Or at least that's what Finn had been stupid enough to believe. Now he realized stronger methods would have to be used. But what?

He would have to be more careful next time. Poor Brittany had been there. She could have been hurt, and Finn would never forgive himself if anything happened to his sister. Nor would he ever forgive himself if anything ever happened to Rachel. He might not love her, nor she him, but he cared for her and—

_Quinn loved her._

He froze in the middle of the floor. Of course! Why hadn't he thought of it before?

Quinn was only human and Rachel was a lovely young woman—not as lovely as the oldest daughter of Lady Markby's, but pretty all the same. And she had that same annoying love of poetry that his sister possessed. It was only natural that Quinn would be attracted to her.

In fact, Quinn was probably the only person who could truly appreciate all those things about Rachel that Finn didn't. In a perfect world, were it not for the fact that Finn himself needed Rachel and her money, he would be tempted to say that Quinn actually deserved someone like Rachel.

But she did not deserve to be the Duchess of Brahm. She hadn't worked as hard for it as Finn had.

Therefore, Finn saw nothing wrong with using Rachel to get to his sister. Oh yes, Quinn would do whatever he wanted if Finn threatened Rachel.

* * *

**A/N: Ooooo, what is Finn going to do? _How _will he threaten Rachel? Will he get away with yet _another _scheme? But, awww...Rachel's in love :) Find out how our heroines handle this sticky situation next time on _All That's Best_! hehehe**

**I hope you guys liked this chapter! I'll be back with chapter 9 just as soon as I can, I promise! :)**


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